


Comeback Kids

by thekindofworld



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekindofworld/pseuds/thekindofworld
Summary: Autumn 2019 brings new music, love, and of course, a lot of drama; it wouldn't be 1d without it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We back in business lads!
> 
> Have at it ;)

Harry wakes up early.

It’s not unheard of. He tends to wake up before 9 most days, but 6:45am is pushing it, even for him, and for the first ten minutes of consciousness, he lays on the left side of the bed, one hand on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling with a giant grin curling at his mouth.

He can see the outline of the room in vague smudges of darkness and there’s an ever so slight chill in the air that makes him struggle to work up enough motivation to move.

Its only when his phone pings on the bedside table, the screen lighting up, that he turns on his side, propped up on one elbow. The approach of early autumn means the sun isn’t up yet, and that suits Harry just fine; there’s something exciting about going outside when the sky is still a pretty inky blue.

Cliff lifts his floppy ear away from where its covering his sleepy eyes to regard him with disapproval but Harry just sticks his tongue out at him, rolling his eyes as the grumpy dog sluggishly moves further up the bed to slump over his legs.

**Niall:**

_Get the fuck out of bed. We have work to do._

Closing his eyes for a moment and pressing his phone to his chest, Harry ducks his head and breathes in deep, struggling not to squeal and kick out with pure excitement. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be a functioning adult and chucks his duvet off, nudging at Clifford to let him up. He stands, lifting his arms above his head, stretching and groaning again when his back cracks and his muscles and bones slot into the correct positions.

He dresses quickly, padding around in the kitchen and feeding Clifford, letting him out in the garden to do his business, setting the kettle to boil.

Spending a few minutes sat on the kitchen floor after pulling on his chelsea’s, he sips at the hot liquid and showers Clifford with affection.

Its colder than he thought it would be when he finally closes the front door behind him, and he shivers as he half-skips to the Range Rover. Rushing to flick the heater on, he rubs his hands together and checks his face instinctively in the wingmirror. There are shades of blue lining his eyes after a night tossing and turning in anticipation for today, and he’s never been happier to see them.

He pauses before he starts the engine, nibbling briefly on his bottom lip before bringing up Nick’s number, shooting off a text to him and turning the radio on before pulling out of the driveway.

“Alright, lad?”

“Mornin’ Steven.”

Their gatekeeper winks at him and presses the button to let him out.  

“No Louis this morning?”

“He’s flying back from LA. Coming straight into work.”

“Back in with the boys today, aincha?”

“Dunno what you’re on about, mate,” Harry smirks, shrugging, “have a guddon.”

“You too. Tell the lads hi from me.”

Harry just salutes him as he turns out onto Wiseton Road, turning his lights on as the final notes to a Halsey song fade out, and Nick starts talking about him.

“We have a special request from our young Mr Styles at this early hour,” he says, humour and knowing coating his tone. Harry wets his lips and shakes his head, smiling, settling into the straight-ahead drive along Trinity road. Rain sprays at the windscreen, blowing crispy orange leaves across the tarmac and over the sleek black bonnet.

“I’m not going to ring him whilst he’s driving though. Hey, Styles, eyes on the road. He’s busy this morning, if I remember correctly; I’m sure he’ll be knackered by the _end of the day_. Hope he’s got his _temporary fix_ of caffeine, he’s going to need it. _Story of my life_ to be honest. First of the month, autumn’s rolling in, and we’ve got one hell of a season ahead of us. Let’s indulge him, shall we? Have a bit of History by One Direction for your way into work, ladies and gents. Buckle up, it’s going to be a big Sunday.”

His phone starts buzzing off the hook moments later. He glances down, and hundreds of notifications are lighting up the screen.

 **StylesUnchained** :

@Harry_Styles FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK DON’T PLAY ME LIKE THIS STYLES

 **LoveForLarents** :

@Harry_Styles TURN ON YOUR LOCATION I JUST WANT TO TALK

 **1D6** :

IM GONNA FIGHT @Harry_Styles IN TESCO CARPARK SQUARE UP

 **2019gonfuckusup** :

@Harry_Styles m8 wat you playin at? @Louis_Tomlinson reign your man in he’s being sneaky.

 **Grimmers** :

I know something youuuuuuuu don’t knooooooow. @Harry_Styles, tell @LiamPayne he still owes me a pint.

“Siri,” he says, voice thick with humour, “tweet: at Grimmers. You’re both going to have to find a way to settle your debts if you’re going to be bridesmaids.”

Harry feels something coming to life in his stomach. Something big and beautiful and important.

With the first whispers of a new season humming in his ear, he feels the buzz of freedom start to spread through his body.

* * *

 

The seatbelt light comes on, triggering the passengers of flight 143 with British Airways to fasten themselves into their seats, the hostesses flocking to the front of the plane, checking that everyone is doing as they’re told as they go.

Louis Tomlinson tugs his hoodie over his head and doesn’t even bother to right his hair where it’s gotten all sticky upy and weird.

Rubbing at his tired, achy eyes, he sniffs, hoping there’s not an illness coming on and that the pressure in his sinuses and stiffness in his bones is nothing more than jet lag and the creeping in of his late twenties.

With a deep sigh, he braces himself for the landing he still can’t get used to, unbuckling with the all clear and nodding sleepily at Alberto who is already reaching above them to drag his carry on down to his level. He huffs a quiet thank you and shrugs it on over his shoulder, smiling at the sun rising slow over the runway, illuminating the soft layer of crisp mist blanketing Heathrow Airport.

Matt winks at him as he meets them in the middle of the aisle and waits for the rest of the passengers to leave the plane before he presses a hand to the small of Louis’ back and guides him forward.

“Cheers, love,” Louis says, shaking the hands of the head hostess and the pilots flanking her, before he sprints down the steps, taking a moment to adjust to the colder climate and the way his breath is visible in the air where it escapes from his lips.

“Fuckin hell,” he drawls as they’re joined by a team of airport security and lead into the building through a more discreet entrance. “S’cold.”

“Finally, your choice of garments is weather appropriate,” Matt snorts. Louis doesn’t need to be shown to baggage claim; he already knows this place like the back of his hand. He flips Matt the bird, smirking despite himself when Alberto barely disguises a chuckle behind his hand.

Grabbing his suitcase quickly, he lets Berto drag it along for him. Normally he’d do it himself, but he’s focused on his phone, knowing Harry gets angsty if he doesn’t tell him the second he’s landed and en route.

He hears Matt vaguely talking to some people about the best way out of the terminal and into the black SUV waiting for them outside, but keeps his eyes fixed on the screen as he types.

_Stick the kettle on and don’t start without me x_

The car is much warmer and he gets to curl up in the backseat, watching green blur and cars zoom past as they make work of the M4.

“I’ll drop your shit off on my way to the hotel,” Matt says from the front, already deeply engrossed in his managerial duties now he has a decent signal.

“Berto,” Louis says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out a bit rough and groggy, “you’re with us at the studio today, yeah?”

“Yes,” Alberto replies, turning right on the corner at Cromwell Road, passing the hospital, then left at Coleridge Gardens. Louis is grumpy as hell, knackered, and jet lagged out of his ass, but he still gets that magical feeling in his blood when he’s getting close to the three great loves of his life; Harry, his boys, and the studio.

He wants to bounce out of the car and run inside, but his body has other ideas. So, he has to carefully manoeuvre himself off the plush leather, and stand gently, lifting his arms above his head and listening to his joints crack back into place. He shivers as Matt waves him off and insists he’ll be in around lunch to do some induction stuff with them and spend time behind the glass whilst they get back in touch with their sound.

Berto gets out with him, letting Matt move over to take his place in the driver’s seat and rolling his eyes at Louis’ pout of frustration with the temperature.

In his head, he’d been expecting to go through reception quietly.

It’s still early, not a lot of artists come in to record before 11 in the morning. He’s not expecting to be tackled by three grown ass men.

“Jesus christ, you twats,” he shouts, but he can’t help the sheer joy sneaking into his voice as it crumbles into laughter, the warmth of his best friend’s messy and overenthusiastic embraces instantly banishing the cold.

Harry presses sloppy kisses all over his face as Li buries his in Louis’ neck, Niall’s arms wrapped around his middle like he’s legitimately trying to crack his ribs.

“Fuck, alright, bloody hell. Let me up. Mad heads, the lot of you.”

They disobediently hang onto him for at least another five seconds before Liam and Niall let go of him and Harry takes pride of place. Louis closes his eyes and tucks his face into Harry’s shoulder, breathing in deep and letting his soulmate soothe any anxiety starting to coil in his gut.

God. There’s literally nothing in the world that compares to having Harry back in his arms after time apart. Even if it has only been a week and a half. It’s like having his heart walking around in a different country, and coming home to him returns it to where it’s supposed to be.

“Good flight, mate?”

“Fuck off,” Louis huffs, lifting his chin to look at Niall over Harry’s shoulder, “you know I hate long haul.”

“Ah, quit your whining. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“There’s a cup of Yorkshire in the room, Lou,” Liam grins, winking at him where he’s leant against Niall’s frame, hand playing with his hair. Niall nudges him to get him to stop but he ignores him, and Louis smirks, knowing that habit is something he picked up from him a while back.

“We didn’t start without you,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ hoodie and he smiles softly, moving to press a lingering kiss to his lips and brush the hair from his face.

“Course you didn’t, babe,” Louis teases, “you’re all headless chickens without me.”

“We’re not actually children, y’know?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Louis snorts, as he pokes at Harry’s abdomen to indicate they’ve probably been wrapped around each other for longer than appropriate. “Take it you already signed in.”

“Just here, Sir,” the receptionist almost makes him jump as she appears out of nowhere and presents him with a clipboard and a pen.

“We’ve been waiting to tweet,” Liam says. “Wanna do it together. S’kind of monumental.”

“Awh, Lima,” Louis says, grinning and scribbling his signature on the bottom line before Harry threads their fingers together and they lead him to their new room. “Did you miss me?”

“Shut up,” Liam rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond curve to his mouth.

Their new room is… lovely.

It’s all oak surfaces and warm, quiet colours. There’s a piano against the back wall and a soft beige carpet that makes him notice everyone has already taken their shoes off. Several different guitars are lined up on racks and there aren’t any tables, or if there were, they’ve been taken away to make a space for the four of them on the floor.

Suddenly, he has to swallow a lump in his throat as Niall goes straight for his Taylor 214ce and settles crosslegged next to Liam, who has a biro tucked behind his ear and has acquired a half-used notepad. Its only then that Louis remembers he hasn’t moved, and that he and Harry are still stood in the doorway with their hands intertwined.

He wets his lips and draws in a shuddery breath.

“I’ve already cried twice,” Harry says softly, pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple. “I didn’t realise how much I missed it until I got here.”

“S’just different, isn’t it?” Louis says, a little breathless. “The same, but different.”

“This is how it should have been from the beginning,” Harry lets go of his hand and moves to stand in front of him. “Just us. Here. Making music and laughing and loving each other.”

“Sap,” Louis sniffs, and Harry tuts at him, hooking his finger around the waistband of his trackies and dragging him forward into the circle.

Louis crosses his legs underneath him after kicking off his shoes, and Harry lays on his back with his head in Louis’ lap. Niall makes a face at them and Liam smirks, throwing a scrunched-up ball of paper at Louis’ forehead.

“Ready to tweet?”

“Matt cleared it. It’s part of the itinerary today. But he says we can write what we want as long as it doesn’t give anything about the music away.”

“There’s nothing to give away yet,” Louis points out, “we haven’t even got any song concepts sorted. This is literally straight off the boat.”

“Good,” Liam shrugs, “it’s going to take us at least six months to write the album; in the meantime, Matt and PR can be working to build buzz and sort things out for you two before tour.”

“Ready, then?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Harry says, lifting his phone up so he can see it and bringing up the Twitter app.

 **@LiamPayne** :

_#1D bat signal went up, and we heeded the call. Get ready, its gonna be a big one._

 

 **@Louis_Tomlinson** :

_#1D6 is already trending ! H & Niall are crying. Got some great stuff for ya, 2020._

 

 **@NiallOfficial** :

_The past five years have been top notch, and I’ll always be grateful. But too long without my boys. Back in the studio today. Stay tuned._

 

 **@Harry_Styles** :

_Aug 2 nd 2020\. Save the date. A wedding and a concert. We’ve missed you like breathing. Love, H x_

 

Liam sends the last tweet from the group account, unused for a while, but it will still send out millions of notifications all over the world.

 

**@onedirection** _:_

_Dig out your 1d shirts, guys. We’re coming home to you._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Love ya x

I love writing and making people happy, but it takes a lot of time and effort and I do it for free. So if you wanna buy me a coffee, [you can](paypal.me/DeeRead) <3

* * *

 

It’s still raining when Harry walks into the studio on a Saturday. Within moments, he’s seated on a bean bag with Louis in his lap and a guitar between them, Liam behind the mic recording a demo.

They’re all a bit hungover, having spent the previous night in a pub in Camden celebrating Home being back in the charts without them even having to do or say anything.

Niall is draped dozing over the control deck and Matt flits in and out of the room shooting them all looks of fond disapproval.

Come lunch time, after Louis getting up twice to be sick in the toilets, they have very little done but they’re all feeling accomplished at even having gotten out of bed at all. Harry decides Louis needs some fresh air and they need some food, and there’s something extremely freeing about not having to leave for Tesco at separate exits from the studio.

They’re aware of the paps stationed in the car park outside, but they just walk like they’re not there, Harry feeling around in the back pockets of his jeans for his wallet, and Louis on the phone to someone from DawBell.

“Bloody hell,” Louis huffs as he hangs up, Harry taking him by the elbow to manoeuvre him across the street, “it’s weird as fuck actually talking to someone who’s mildly competent for a change.”

“They’re good, right?” Harry grins as they round the corner and Louis moves over to Harry’s right, hand skimming over the small of his back to pick up a basket before they enter the shop.

“Decent,” Louis agrees, “m’not used to people having our best interests in mind.”

Harry pouts and Louis tuts at him, hand still splayed across the bottom of his spine as they head straight for the pastries.

“You know what I mean, love. You’re not in the same category.”

“I should bloody well hope not,” Harry snorts, wetting his lips and crouching to gather a brown paper bag of croissants. “Careful though, they still need to make money out of us. Lesser evil.”

“For us, lesser evil is a fuckin angel.”

Harry makes a noise of concurrence but doesn’t say anything else as Louis drops a ridiculous amount of food into the basket and they pick up nine cans of relentless and three packets of tobacco, rizzlas, and filters; menthol for Liam.

Harry rubs at his eyes and tucks his chin over Louis’ shoulder as he pays contactless from their joint account, just resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Louis from behind. The cashier’s hands shake as she scans everything through and out of the corner of his eyes, Harry can see someone taking a picture of them in the queue, but it doesn’t faze him. In fact, he gives into the urge to hug Louis’ middle, and Louis turns his head to the side to press an absent, instinctive kiss to Harry’s temple.

Layla, the lady serving them, smiles kind of giddy as Harry lets go so Louis can pack their items.

“Busy today?” Harry tries to make conversation.

“Sort of,” her voice cracks as she replies. “Everyone is buying hangover food.”

“Snap,” Louis grins, and Harry huffs out a laugh as he lifts the bags off the conveyer belt.

“You didn’t even drink that much, lightweight.”

“That’s enough from you.” Harry pats Louis on the head and Louis flips him off, but he sees what’s coming next before it happens.

“I uh… I’m not supposed to ask but I think I’d um – I’d kick myself if I didn’t. Can I get a selfie?”

Harry makes brief eye contact with Louis, a silent check that it’s okay. He just smiles, nodding.

“Course, babe,” he tells Layla, “long as the lady behind us doesn’t mind the hold up?”

“Go ahead,” the middle-aged woman winks at them. “My daughter is a fan too; I know how it is.”

Harry takes Layla’s phone from her and Louis gets in frame. Harry puts his thumb up, Layla throws up a peace sign behind them, and Louis points at her, mouth open in a pose.

“You sure it’s okay to post this? I know you guys uh… don’t this together much anymore.”

“Go ahead,” Harry smiles brightly, taking the bags from Louis and ignoring his narrowed eyes as they protest. “We’re not hiding.”

Harry thinks she gets a bit tearful at that, but he doesn’t draw attention to it out of courtesy.

“I’m proud of you,” Layla blurts out, but the sincerity is there nonetheless, and it is really very touching. “I uh… know it’s been a long time coming.”

“Thanks,” Louis says as they make to leave, taking one of the bags back off of Harry with a quick stubborn glare. “Means a lot, Darlin.”

Harry stops himself from poking his tongue out at him, instead waving to Layla.

“See ya later, love,” he says cheerfully and he can’t help the grin painting his mouth as they depart. He even swallows down enough on the paranoia to thread his fingers through Louis’, which is maybe not advised just yet, and they walk down the street back to the studio together. They don’t let go of each other’s hands as they return to the car park, and the paps give up on subtlety altogether.

“Alright, lads? Got a quick exclusive for the sun?”

“Sorry-”

“Swivel,” Harry says, before he can stop himself. Louis lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head, grabbing Harry by the belt loop and dragging him back inside the building, feeling lighter than air.

* * *

 

Louis is gone before Harry wakes up the following Wednesday. He leaves a note on Harry’s pillow letting him know he’s in the studio recording some bridges and solo pieces for the second track of the album and that he’ll be back just after lunch time.

H is half way through a re-run of Jezza when his phone makes both him and Cliff jump out of their skin. He hisses a bit and reaches forward for where its resting on the coffee table beside his feet, and answers it, heart still hammering a little too hard in his chest.

“Hello?”

“Harry.”

He recognises the voice. Its Alayna. She’s heading some of the PR regarding the build-up of buzz ahead of a Christmas performance they’re booked for; some sort of televised live arena event with Bradley Walsh hosting.

“Aly,” he greets, forcing himself not to sigh and to sound enthusiastic as his fingers scratch behind Clifford’s ears. “What can I do ya for?”

“Apologies, this is slightly last minute, but I need you to do a pap walk.”

Inwardly groaning, Harry tips his head back and breathes in sharply through his nose. He gulps down on any protest threatening to crawl up his throat and makes a face at Cliff, who is now looking up at him with a worrisome expression.

“Where and when?” he asks in his business voice, cringing a little at the way it sounds. It’s usually an involuntary tone he takes on when he’s dealing with shit like this, but in general he’s learned a second nature of professionalism when it comes to these things. As much as he dislikes pretending to walk down the street and not notice ten different news outlets taking pictures of him, he knows it’s in his contract.

And it’s no longer accompanied by the dread of having to stand next to a woman he’s never met, doesn’t know, and probably never will, so the world can speculate about what position he likes to fuck her in.

“Just a routine one. Something for the tabloids to keep you all at the forefront. Liam’s doing one in Soho too, and Niall’s gone home for the week but he’s doing one there too. If you could wear one of Louis’ hoodies too, that’d help with the other thing-”

Harry looks down and purses his lips in mild amusement; he’s already wearing one of Louis’ Kappa jumpers.

“It’s now, though. The paps are going to be in Hyde Park in about an hour and a half, so do what you want. Might even get you out of that damn house.”

“It’s my day off,” he defends, pouting, but he hears the teasing begin to enter her tone as it loses its boss-lady quality.

“Don’t be late,” she says, thanking him for his time before hanging up. He looks down at Cliff again, eyebrows raised in contemplation.

“Fancy a stroll in the park?”

Clifford barks in reply, immediately scrambling off the sofa and jolting Harry, tail smacking him in the face. He coughs and splutters and curses a bit, but goes to put on jeans anyway, selecting his Saint Laurents to step into today. He hooks the ring of his blue and green keys around his belt loop and makes sure he has his wallet and phone zipped in the pockets of the suede shearling he shrugs into.

Grabbing the lead and harnessing Cliff, he checks his watch to make sure it’s not going to be busy on the tube. Its barely even eleven yet; most people are already at work, and the ones that aren’t are already where they need to be.

They hop on at Wandsworth Common and catch the Southern Line to Victoria. Cliff is a bit of a beast in terms of size, but he’s pretty well behaved when he needs to be, and he’s used to being transported around a lot in moving vehicles from when Harry and Louis have had him come and visit them on tour. So, he mostly just sits with his warm weight across Harry’s feet as lights flit through the windows and the lack of heating makes Harry shiver a bit, even with his coat on.

He knows… god, he hates that he knows it, it makes him feel super big headed – but he _knows_ he’s recognisable. He knows the tube is not something he should do if he doesn’t want to be seen. But he is on his way to a pap walk, and it is nice to be out doing something normal and mundane. Even if there is someone sat opposite him a few seats over trying to discreetly take a picture of him on their Nokia.

Clifford seems to sense that he’s a bit tense, and stands up. The seats on either side of Harry aren’t taken, and the carriage is mostly empty, so he pats the space and smiles softly as Clifford climbs up to lay across his lap instead, the lead loosely still curled around Harry’s fingers.

Then there’s the district line at Richmond to South Kensington where they get off. He grabs a Caramel Macchiato at Earl’s Court Starbucks, then heads over to the bus stop near the Vic & Albert museum. Slumping on the metal bar meant to be a seat, Harry watches London rush around him as Cliff sniffs at the wet concrete.

Its spitting with rain slightly but the sun is still peeking out from behind the clouds, a sure sign of a rainbow later. Still cold though, 7*c, and he can see his breath curling in the air in front of him. He wets his lips where they’re getting a little chapped, and runs one hand through his hair, regretting not wearing a headband or tying the top of it back.

He can feel a few of the other waiting passengers stealing quick glances at him, checking that yes, they are seeing Harry Styles sat at their bus stop drinking coffee with Louis Tomlinson’s dog as it tries to get it’s face inside an old McDonalds bag.

Louis rings him as he gets off the bus at the Royal Albert Hall, and he huffs, knowing exactly what he’s about to get told off for.

“Hey, baby.”

“Don’t you baby me, Styles. What are you doing on public transport without security?”

“Louis,” Harry reasons deadpan, “you go everywhere you possibly can without Berto.”

“Yeah, well, I sent him over to Hyde Park. He’s sat in his car outside the railings. He’s going to keep an eye on you and if you start getting harassed, you can get out of there.”

Harry smiles despite himself, rolling his eyes as he nears his destination.

“I’ve got Cliff with me.”

“Yeah, I figured that when my Twitter mentions started blowing up with pictures of you with my bloody great labradoodle. I’m done in about an hour. I’ll come and take you for lunch.”

“Louis Tomlinson, are you asking me out on a date?” Harry grins, nodding at Berto where he sees him sat in the driver’s seat of the SUV eating a donut and turning into the park finally.

“Piss off,” Louis snorts. Harry already feels warmer just hearing his voice, and he lets Clifford off his lead as he retrieves the tennis ball from his pocket. “Can’t I take my fiancé for a pasty now and again?”

“Oh, Lou, you do know how to wine and dine me.”

“Eh,” he replies, tone light with humour, “I fancy a Ginsters. Sue me.”

“I’d technically also be suing myself,” Harry reminds him, laughing slightly as he lifts his arm backward and launches the ball across the grass, watching Cliff dart off in a blur of black fur.

“See you in a bit,” Harry says, spotting the paps badly disguising themselves behind nearby shrubbery and knowing they can probably hear some of what he’s saying.

“Bye, darlin. Stay safe.”

“Love you.”

“Likewise.”

* * *

**Who let the dogs out?**

**Harry Styles seen walking Louis Tomlinson’s dog in Hyde Park.**

Presumably put on dog walking duty, Styles was spotted this morning with Louis Tomlinson’s famed labradoodle, Clifford, kicking 1d’s reunion week off with a bang.

Until the One Direction members tweeted from the studio last week, it was presumed that the two do not get along and only interact when required to do so by work commitments. Putting those rumours to rest this morning, Styles spent a good hour in the autumn sunshine with his bandmate’s large canine, grinning ear to ear and dressed in what detective fans have proved is Tomlinson’s Kappa hoodie.

Watched closely by Tomlinson’s bodyguard (who previously worked for many years with the late legend Michael Jackson), Styles wrestled in the grass with Clifford, laughing and making the fashion company that made his suede jacket cringe.

Tomlinson and Styles were pictured just a few days ago making a hangover supply run at Tesco’s. A far cry from a very public separation following the split in their originally close friendship when the band first started out, it looks as though they have rekindled the old bromance that once melted the hearts of fans and the general public alike.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The bass pounds in Louis’ ears as he makes his way back through the throng of sweaty humans to their booth where he drops heavy down beside Nizam and steals his glass of water without more than a half-hearted glare in return.

“What time is it?” he says loudly, and Calvin smirks, rolling his eyes and checking his phone where it’s laid flat on the table in front of him.

“2am,” he says. Louis’ head is spinning a bit and his limbs feel loose, the bitter tang of acid reflux burning at his oesophagus. He runs a hand through his hair where it’s getting a bit longer again, pushing it back from his face where beads of perspiration are gathering on his forehead. He wipes it away and draws in a deep breath, hoping it will ground him more solidly in his body.

It doesn’t, and he huffs, his stomach craving spicy spuds doused in mayo, and a cigarrete.

He retrieves his baccy from his tight jeans as the others talk around him, shouting over the noise of the music.

It’s been a good night; they danced, Oli threw up twice (once in the bin sheds behind the first pub they went to, again in the drain outside ‘Spoons), and Nizam got his name up on a hall of fame wall for downing fifteen shots in ten seconds – hence the water. But now Louis is feeling his twenty-seven years making him prematurely crave his bed, and also, he wants to drown himself in Harry before he lets sleep take him.

“Paps are outside,” Calvin reminds him, already having guessed that the night is officially done with. Louis grumbles, shooting off a text to H letting him know he’s coming home soon, and shrugs.

“Berto’s waiting in the car,” Nizam informs, “he brought it around a few minutes ago.”

Louis rolls them all a cig and they head out.  

He’ll never quite get used to the flashes that overwhelm them the second they get through the doors, some stood up, others crouched to get different angles. He’s abruptly reminded that he’s wearing one of Harry’s custom Gucci shirts, loose, silk beige with Styles embroidered above the breast plate, buttons undone so the calligraphy across his collar bones is visible, sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows.

It’s not a good idea to be without a jacket at night in the middle of October, but the alcohol stops him from feeling it quite so harshly. Oli’s bony grip curls around his arm, and Calvin stands in close against his right as they move through the swarm of cameras. The bouncers get a bit pissed off and start trying to scatter the paps as he finally slides into the warm interior of the car, making a noise of thanks when Alberto immediately starts the engine and pulls away.

Oli takes the front seat, Cal and Nizam in the back with him.

“Lean forward, lad,” Cal sighs, and Louis can hear the laughter in his voice. “Head between your knees.”

“If you throw up in my car, I’m resigning,” Berto drawls from the front and Nizam snorts, Cal rubbing at the bottom of Louis’ spine with only mild sympathy.

“Sorry, mate,” Louis says meekly, the fresh air hitting him hard. It’s not a long drive though, and they sit on the wall when they get out of the car again, all of them sparking their fags.

The lights are on inside, which means H is still awake and waiting for him. Or he’s fallen asleep on the sofa attempting to, and has that soft frown creasing his brow where he dreams fitfully about whatever wonders his beautiful mind has conjured tonight.

“Sickening,” Oli remarks, and Louis flushes a bit when he realises he said that out loud. The world is still spinning and the cigarrete has only made him more drunk.

“Piss off,” Louis huffs, as Calvin helps him upright and rummages for his key in the back pocket of his jeans, unlocking the door.

“Had fun?”

A smile automatically spreads across Louis’ mouth and his heart gives a thud in his chest as Calvin transfers his weight to Harry’s taller body.

“Hey, darlin.”

“Get to bed, boys. I’ve got him.”

“ _Yeah you do_.”

“Shut up, you _nerd_ ,” Harry chuckles affectionately, arm threading around his waist as Louis settles himself against his side and buries his face in his neck, hands clutching at the fabric of Harry’s hoodie. “Bed time I think.”

“Hmmm…” Louis can’t stop smiling. Harry smells so good. So good. Like apples. He’s showered in the last hour, and he’s all soft and strong and sleepy. Harry that is, not him. Well, Louis too but the point is – the point is; Harry Styles is the best thing on the planet at this exact moment.

“You’re sweet, angel,” Harry’s laughter is light and dry and it wraps around him like a blanket. Louis grumbles as he realises he said that out loud too. “But you need to sleep it off.”

The actual blanket envelopes him then, as he feels himself being lowered onto the mattress they’d brought last year, designed by an orthopaedic doctor for Harry’s back; great for H, and also incredibly comfortable.

Louis finds the co-ordination to roll over and attach himself to Harry from behind before he lets sleep take him, and when it does, his last thought is that his life probably couldn’t get any better than this.

* * *

 

The sun trickles in through the large window and casts a soft, golden glow over the room as Harry re-enters the following morning, two cups of coffee in hand, along with a packet of ibuprofen.

He’d put a bucket down beside Louis’ side of the bed sometime in the night, when he’d woken up for a piss, but it hasn’t been used yet, and as far as he can tell, the other lads haven’t woken up either.

Placing Louis’ mug down on the bedside table, Harry sits crosslegged at the end of the bed, on top of the duvet, the large plaid shirt swamping him as he sips at his drink and lets the steam warm his skin, waiting for the central heating to switch itself on.

He loves these moments in the morning, before Louis wakes up. Creepy or not, his favourite past time is watching Louis whilst dawn stirs into consciousness and its orange light spreads across the planet, illuminating the dips and rises of Louis’ frame.

Logically, someone drooling over a pillow and snoring slightly shouldn’t be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but it catches him off guard every time, even after nearly a decade of mornings like this one.

The stubble grazing the defined cut of Louis’ cheekbones dapples under his chin and fades around his pretty lips, messy hair tangled, sweeping over his forehead, the soft curves of his shoulders and arms, one of them draped over the sheets where Harry had been laid only fifteen minutes previous, the other curled under the pillow in the middle.

Harry’s eyes scan the careful, immortal ink drawn into the smooth planes, the hollow of his collar bones above their story where it’s written forever. Harry’s head tilts slightly to the right, lips pursing as the rush of love hits him for the millionth time, fluttering butterflies in his stomach and making him have to swallow on a lump in his throat.

He doesn’t know if he’ll have his career, his friends, his cars, his clothes, his houses, or the full use of his limbs for the rest of his life, but he knows for a fact and with infinite and absolute confidence, that he will always have Louis Tomlinson. And that, he thinks, is all he will ever truly need.

He leaves it another ten minutes before he grabs a stray pillow and lobs it at Louis’ face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Live Lounge lads love to serenade each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you so much <3

Harry fidgets slightly as Nick adjusts his mic and turns in his armchair, signalling someone down to fetch them three bottles of cold water.

Louis grabs at it when it arrives, downing a quarter of the bottle immediately and hating that he can’t move around or shake out the buzz of excess nervous energy in his bones.

“You good?” Harry says quietly.

They’re sat close, Harry’s legs open, jeans ripped at the knees. Louis draws in a discreetly shaky breath and smiles genuinely, nodding and draping one arm over the back of the sofa behind Harry. He angles his body towards him and lifts one leg to bend and rest on his other knee.

“Don’t worry, love,” Louis says softly, dropping his forehead to Harry’s temple for a moment and letting himself drown in the scent of his cologne. “I’m fine. Just a bit antsy.”

“Me too,” Harry admits.

“You’re not walking to your deaths, boys,” Nick teases them. Louis flips him off and Nick sticks his tongue out.

“Alright, starting in three, two, one.”

“Welcome, lads,” Grimmy starts in his camera voice; not too far off from his normal voice, just with a slightly more satirical tone. Louis remembers they’re friends, that they’re not being interviewed by some random journo, that they’re safe here. He forces his muscles to unclench and nods, grinning. “How are we on this fine afternoon?”

“Not too bad, not too bad,” Louis replies honestly, turning to Harry to prompt his answer.

“I’m fine.”

“He’s grumpy,” Louis says and Harry’s brow creases.

“Oh no, Harold,” Grimmy says in mock sympathy, “what is getting you down?”

“Nothing!” Harry insists, slapping at Louis’ chest with the back of his hand.

“We had to throw out his favourite t-shirt this morning because it was finally falling apart.”

“Ah,” Grimmy says mournfully, “like the boots of destiny.”

“They’re not called the boots of destiny, Nicholas,” Harry sighs heavily, although there’s humour in his eyes and Louis’ heart gives a gentle thud.

“They were,” Louis corrects him. “Past tense. I had to battle to get you to give up the ghost on those too. They’re in the garden with fuscias growing out of them.”

“Honest, is this pick on Harry day or summat?”

“You’re so easy to wind up,” Louis grins at him, his hand coming up from behind to ruffle his hair. Harry elbows him in the ribs.

“Tell me, boys; why do I only have the two of you?”

“Niall and Liam are doing radio time with Roman.”

“I’ll be having words with him I reckon, stealing my thunder he is, that cheeky bugger. Still, I’m making history with yous two. You haven’t done an interview on your own together since… when was it?”

Louis clears his throat and Harry sniffs, looking at him, the both of them trying hard to keep the smirks off their faces.

“A while.”

Harry disguises his squeak with a cough and leans forward, reaching for his water and drinking for something to do with his hands.

“Now, this is a Live Lounge session too. So, what does this mean with regards to the band and stuff? It’s definitely the four of you still, right? We’re not getting a double whammy repeat of the Z drama?”

Louis brings a finger up to the back of Harry’s neck, his knuckle stroking at the skin there to ease the tension that tightens in his shoulders. He melts again immediately, and Louis feels himself following.

“We’re still coming back as a group.”

“You promise?”

“I got into trouble the last time I promised,” Louis says, wetting his lips with his tongue and ignoring Harry’s snort and the raise of his eyebrows.

“It’s definite though?”

“We’re are writing and touring this album together. No one is going anywhere.”

“Awesome, I don’t have to get my black clothes ready to go into mourning again. But you two are doing the Live Lounge today, yeah?”

“Yep,” Harry looks excited at this, and Louis has to hide his face in the crook of his own shoulder so they don’t get him fonding quite so hard on camera. “We sat down yesterday and picked the songs we’re covering.”

“You’re going to break the internet,” Nick tells them, and Louis knows that, thank you. He knows that the second this goes out; the press are going to orgasm. The world is going to be speculating like never before.

Not that he’s uncomfortable with everyone thinking that he’s with Harry; he’d shout it from the rooftops for the rest of his life.

It’s just an adjustment.

But he’s so fucking excited for what comes next.

It’s only then that he realises he’s been kind of quiet, with Harry directing the conversation and stepping in for him. Before he’s registered it, Nick is looking into the lens doing an ID for the Live Lounge session and Harry’s fingers are landing on Louis’ thigh to steady himself as he stands.

For a moment, Louis feels a little lost.

Then Harry looks down at him and holds out his hand and Louis takes it without thinking and he’s being hauled upright and he’s back in his body again, like no time has gone by at all.

* * *

 

Sound check goes by without a hitch, and then they’re stood on the small stage with intimate lighting and there’s a sliding camera on a rig a few feet in front of them and Louis thinks this is exactly where he belongs.

“So, talk us through this first song quick,” Clara asks from where she’s sat off to the side. Louis crouches and sips from his water bottle, allowing Harry to take this one.

“So, uh… I wrote this one when we um – when I was on the other side of the world working and I was sat like out with my mates but I had this feeling like I was kind of aching? Like this tight thing in my chest. And I literally just – Nick will tell ya. I just got up and left and went back to the hotel. And I had this guitar, it was one Niall got me for my birthday and the song just sort of… came out.”

Nick coughs behind his hand to hide the words, “no pun intended.”

Louis glares at him, but can’t help the smile tugging at his lips, making that stupid V shape the fans coined.

“And it was perfect for the album’s sound,” Louis chimes in, screwing his bottle shut and standing again. “We were going for stripped back and kind of intimate with at least four of the songs. And H came back with this song and played it to us in the studio and I remember you could hear a pin drop.”

“He cried.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, wetting his lips and feeling his cheeks heating up. He clears his throat and ducks his head as Harry laughs.

“Anyone it’s for? Seems like the kind of song one writes for their soulmate or summat,” Nick teases, knowing full well it was Harry’s love letter to Louis.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Louis cuts in as Harry opens his mouth to answer. “How about we get to singing it and everyone can make up their own mind, yeah?”

He looks at Harry and winks as the band start playing softly and Louis draws in the legendary deep breath before he sings.

“ _If I could fly_

_I’d be coming right back home to you._

_I think I might, give up everything, just ask me to._

_Pay attention, I hope that you listen._

_Cause I let my guard down._

_Right now I’m completely defenceless_.”

Louis’ body rushes with emotion and the sound coming out of his mouth is clearer and more skilled than ever, soft and honest and raw.

And when they hit the chorus together, it’s a whole other playing field.

“ _For your eyes only,_

_I’ll show you my heart._

_When you’re lonely,_

_Forget who you are._

_I’m missing half of me_ -”

Louis turns his head slightly and meets Harry’s eyes; and it never gets old, never falters, only ever gets stronger and more intense.

“ _When we’re apart._

 _Now you know me, for your eyes only_.”

Louis almost jumps as the lighting changes and suddenly they’re bathed in green and blue, illuminating the whole set as Harry takes over what is Louis’ verse on the studio version. He signals to Harry, asking him if he planned this, but he just smiles and continues singing. Louis feels breathless and alive and like his soul is soaring millions of miles above them, the violin and piano filling the room sweeping him away with the music.

Louis makes it through the chorus without crying or choking with the emotion threatening to lump in his throat.

“ _I can feel your heart inside of mine_ ,” Louis lifts his voice up and gets louder, pushing from his diaphragm and focusing on keeping breath control, hand pressed to his tummy. He steps back a bit on the heels of his feet, moving his head to the dip and rise of the sound.

“ _I feel it, I feel it_ ,” Harry echoes.

“ _I’ve been going out of my mind_.”

Then together, “ _I feel it, I feel it._

_Know that I’m just wasting time._

_Aaaaaaand I_ -”

They both sing, then drop off for Harry to sing in his lower tone.

“ _Hope that you don’t run from me_.”

Louis swallows and wets his lips again, grabbing at his mic stand and turning fully towards Harry now, heart hammering in his chest, the pulse of blood in his veins eclectic and pumping adrenaline.

“ _For your eyes only,_

_I show you my heart._

_When you’re lonely,_

_Forget who you are._

_I’m missing half of me,_

_When we’re apart._

_Now you know me,_

_For your eyes only_.”

Harry looks down for a single moment as they reach the last two lines, before looking back up, face completely lit up and shining with a promise.

“ _For your eyes only_.”

Louis finishes with a grin attempting to split his own face.

“ _For your eyes only_.”

* * *

 

Louis knew what he’d set himself up for when they picked the songs.

They’d made a list of the ones that feel natural to them, their favourites, but that had ended up being three sides of A4, and then they’d bickered over how to narrow it down, wound up throwing bits of screwed up paper at each other, then pillows, and then all out wrestling. Clifford had started barking and running around and then the neighbours had knocked on the front door, and they’d answered together red faced, out of breath, rips in their t-shirts, and looking like they’d been dragged through a hedge backward.

Which, in hindsight, despite living in a gated community with a lot of other people heavily protected by NDA’s, is probably a bit of a dumbass move on their part. In fact, their estate is nosier than normal ones, and Louis is actually surprised Allison and Pete from next door haven’t tweeted about Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson opening their front door still nudging and pinching and glaring at each other like school children.

But he’s incredulously happy with the set list they’ve crafted together.

That is, until they actually have to perform it.

The problem is Ed’s Photograph.

The second the music starts, Louis feels himself losing it a bit. A stage hand has given them two stools to sit on, so his knees can’t buckle when they start to feel unstable. But something in the centre of his body seems to shudder to life and suddenly his mouth his dry and his throat is clogging and his eyes are stinging with harsh wetness.

“ _Loving can hurt_

_Loving can hurt sometimes_

_But it’s the only thing that I know_.”

Louis takes a gulp of water again before H’s verse finishes, so on camera he doesn’t look so affected. Licking his lips to ready himself, he makes sure he has plenty of breath ready, and then just lets it flow.

“ _When it gets hard_

_You know it can get hard sometimes._

_It is the only thing that makes us feel alive_.”

His voice falters a little on the last note, but it comes off as emotion and doesn’t sound like a break.

Harry goes in low, and Louis goes in high, their tones melding together, mixing with the strum of the guitar and the piano, warm and sweet and melancholy.

And he remembers it all. The happiness. So effortlessly, elatedly, extatically happy they felt like their bodies might burst from it. The one consistent thing. No matter how bad it was, they always had a moment in between. A moment that would remind them that they’re literally tattooed into each other’s DNA; scribbled into the base code of the universe like graffiti on a lone wall on a forgotten estate somewhere the world doesn’t know about. Some place belonging only to them. Spray painted there. Harry and Louis. Always.

“ _We keep this love in a photograph_

_We made these memories for ourselves_

_Where our eyes are never closing_

_Hearts are never broken_

_Times forever frozen still…_ ”

“ _So you can keep, me, inside the pocket of your ripped jeans_

_Holding me closer till our eyes, meet_

_You won’t ever be alone_

_Wait for me to come home_.”

As the drum kicks in, Louis gives into temptation and steps off his stool, dragging it up next to Harry so there are only a few centimetres between them. Harry catches his eyes, both of them glassy, but Louis just winks at him and pats his thigh quick.

“ _Loving can heal_

_Loving can mend your soul_

_And it’s the only thing that I know_ ”

Louis ducks his head and lets the natural smile play at his lips, tapping his foot now where it rests on the wooden beam of his chair.

“ _I swear it will get easier_

_Remember that with every piece of you_

_And it’s the only thing we take with us when we die_ ”

He catches Nick’s gaze from behind the lights when Harry finishes the verse, and he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised, Clara beside him with a smug knowing look on her face. The little shits.

They go through the chorus again, and its stronger this time, surer, backed up with the thicker melody and beat scaffolding the sound. It’s amazing.

“ _And if you hurt me_

_That’s okay baby only words bleed_

_Inside these pages you just hold me_

_And I won’t ever let you go_

_Wait for me to come home_ ”

They take it in turns repeating that line, and Louis doesn’t have time to remember what the next lyric is, or how blatant it is until his mouth is actually singing it of its own accord, and his heart throbs painfully.

“ _Oh, you can fit me_

_Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen_

_Next to your heartbeat where I should be_

_Keep it deep within your soul_ ”

He has just enough breath for the last syllable and Harry saves it by coming in straight after, his hand coming up to squeeze at Louis’ shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets the wave overwhelm him before he readies himself for the last verse, acapella and nothing to hide behind, together.

“ _When I’m away I will remember how you kissed me_

_Under the lamppost back on sixth street_

_Hearing you whisper through the phone_

_Wait for me to come home_.”

* * *

 

After that they take a twenty-minute break to shake it off.

They sneak out the back of the studios for a cigarette and Harry lets the tension leave his body, his muscles feeling like jelly. He slumps against Louis’ side, head resting in the crook of his neck and enjoying the feel of his fingers curled around the curve of his waist, thumb rubbing soothing back and forth motions.

“I love you,” Harry says quietly as rain sprays and mists in the air, still getting them a bit wet despite the shelter they’re stood under, feeling like he might die if he doesn’t say it.

“I know, darlin,” Louis says gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too.”

They stay there in the quiet for a while, with nothing but the whistle of the November wind and the gentle rain riding it.

When they return to the stage, their stools have been taken away and Harry is feeling excited again. He’s never performed this song properly with a microphone in a professional setting, let alone with cameras. But it’s one of his all-time favourites, and Louis’ energy is contagious as they get everything into place again.

They’ve stripped it down nice and instrumental, with a bit of an indie beat to it.

Harry stands back from the mic as the music starts, but bops along as it flows in, drinking from his bottle, listening. He crouches and just watches Louis sing, his favourite past time.

“ _Wish that you_

_Could build a time machine_

_So you could see the things no one can see._

_Feels like you’re standing on the edge_

_Looking at the stars and wishing you were them_ ”

Harry is so caught up in it he almost misses his cue, making an oops face as he shoots up and curls one of his feet behind the other, unable to keep the big cheesy grin off his face.

“ _What do you do when the chapter ends_

_Do you close the book and never read it again_

_Where do you go when the stories done_

_You can be who you were_

_Or who you’ll become_ ”

Harry feels the music in his veins, the pride and joy pulsing through him, setting his bones on fire.

“ _Wooooooahoooooh_

_If it all goes wrong_

_Wooooooahoooooh_

_Darling just hold on_ ”

Harry can feel himself smiling wider than ever when the chorus hits and it soars in his chest. He’s supposed to sing with Louis but instead he just throws his arms out and tips his head back, basking in the music.

“ _The sun goes down and it comes back up_

 _The world it turns no matter what_ -”

Harry steps back again, pushing the hair from his face and smiling as he catches Nick’s eye in the corner, smirking, letting Louis sing without him.

“ _Wooooooahoooooh_

 _If it all goes wrong_ ….”

He stills, waiting for the bass to drop, then they’re off again.

“ _Darling just hold on_

_Wooooooahoooooh_

_Darling just hold on_

_Wooooooahoooooh_

_Darling just hold on_ ”

There’s a moment where everything stops, and then they come in simultaneously.

“ _Its not over till its done and said_

_Its not over till your dying breath_

_So what do you want them to say when you’re gone?_

_That you gave up or that you kept going on_?”

They move to centre stage now, looking each other dead in the eyes and singing directly at each other.

“ _What do you do when the chapter ends_

_Do you close the book and never read it again_

_Where do you go when your stories done?_

_You can be who you were_

_Or who you’ll become_ ”

Louis pokes Harry playfully in the stomach before they separate for the chorus, causing him to lurch back and nearly fall over, gaining his balance and holding up both middle fingers at him, laughing. Whatever. They can blur it out.

He recovers a second before they’re due to sing the bridge, Harry’s voice breaking slightly as he struggles to control himself.

“ _Wooooooahoooooh_

_If it all goes wrong_

_Wooooooahoooooh_

_Darling just hold on_ ”

Harry flings his arms out again, the laughter vibrating through him and bubbling up with the adrenaline, leaving him panting and grinning and shaking his head at the cameras.

“ _The sun goes down and it comes back up_

_The world it turns no matter what_

_Wooooooahoooooh_

_If it all goes wrong…._

_Darling just hold on_ ”

It’s so, so much fun.

“ _Darling just hold on_ ”

“ _If it all goes wrong_ ”

“ _Wooooooahoooooh_

 _Darling just hold on_.”

The music calms and they both turn back to the cameras, out of breath. As ever though, Louis finds the control and sings the last line with his hand on his tummy and a gorgeous sparkle in his eyes. And as the track fades, Harry doesn’t have the restraint to stop himself from grabbing at him and tugging him in for a tight hug. There’s laughing and whooping from the crew and the drummer does a little roll, but they pat each other’s backs in a more bro-ish way after a few intimate seconds for face, and come away from it.

* * *

 

They do Lorde’s Tennis Court, Niall’s Slow Hands (which they get just a bit too into), and have a lot of fun with Bebe’s Meant To Be complete with some questionable dance moves and Harry is really, really enjoying himself.

The penultimate chorus is Harry’s favourite; the both of them love Bebe a lot, and the FGL lads are a right laugh, and its one that cuts out backing track and allows them to snap their fingers and gyrate a little. And seeing Louis so free and smiley is music enough.

He knows half way through the song that its one for the Live Lounge album.

They facetime her on their next break because it makes Harry miss her, and when she answers and her face appears on the screen, she’s in her kitchen dressed in a tracksuit, looking like they just gave her the best Christmas present in the world.

“Guys!” she half-yells, Bear yipping in the background. The camera dives as she bends to pick him up. “What’s going on?”

“Live Lounge,” Harry says and she woops loudly.

“You little shites are singing the song then?”

“So much fun, babe,” Louis says, “can we come see you next week? You’ve got time off, right?”

“Yes!” she insists, laughing as Bear licks at her face. “Oh my god, yes. I want to watch this movie, it’s a horror. We can have a Halloween night.”

“We’re flying in on Monday.”

“Just don’t eat me out of house and home this time.”

“Munchies,” Harry pouts, “it’s not my fault.”

“Self-inflicted, honey,” she tells Harry with a wink. “You can pay me by doing my washing.”

“Pay you for what?”

“My weed,” she says with a small laugh, “the fact that you ate too much curry and blocked my toilet last time. And you love me.”

“Sometimes,” Louis snorts.

“All the time,” she corrects him. “Looks like you’re being summoned, boys. Have fun. Text me.”

“Will do,” Harry calls as she hangs up.

Then they’re done. They record a couple of promo videos for the segment, then they’re gathering their shit and leaving. Matt gives them only ten minutes warning that the paps are outside and when they do go, Louis steps in close as Berto opens the door for them.

There’s already a driver in the SUV waiting, and they keep their heads ducked, waving and smiling to a couple of fans before they’re hoarded away from the noise and the flashing, exhausted but happy and very much ready to curl up on the sofa together with Cliff and watch the shambles of a shit show that is this year’s x factor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are cordially invited to the Grammys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in business.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and as always, thank you <3

“Oi,” Niall calls from the bedroom, “the green or the blue?”

Liam comes wondering through to the bedroom with a frown creasing his brow, arms crossed over his chest.

“I dunno, mate, try em on.”

“You just wanna see me take my top off, Liam.”

“Oh no,” Liam remarks with a smile, “you got me.”

“Blue,” Harry yells from the bathroom where he’s been for ten minutes now, trying to unclog the toilet after they had a bit of a dodgy takeaway last night. “Goes with your pretty eyes.”

“Still in the house,” Louis shouts from where he’s lounged in the living room, not even remotely close to getting ready, watching Shameless on Netflix.

“Still marrying you,” Harry shouts back, but Niall is already tugging his t-shirt over his head, laying the blue shirt down on the bed and shrugging into the green one. Liam pushes off the doorframe and comes over to button it for him, fiddling with the collar.

Niall is nervous, to say the least.

This isn’t a situation he’s been in before.

The awards they’re nominated for, that is, not Liam dressing him. They’re attending as a group now they’re back together and making music. But having only just come of hiatus, they’re still up for separate awards as solo musicians.

He and Louis are up for Artist of the Year, Harry is up for Best Pop/Rock album, and Liam is up for Single of the Year. Watching Liam wrap his head around _that_ has not been fun. Or it has, depending on the day, how worked up he is, and if they’re bickering.

Liam’s fingers pause where they’re finishing on Niall’s top button. Niall brings his hands up to cover Liam’s, drawing his direct eye contact.

“It’ll be fine,” Niall tells him, “you know we’ll be proud of you regardless. You’re worked up for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, entering, eating from a big bag of Wosits. “It’s Nialler that needs to be worried. I’m gonna snatch that award out of his bare hands.”

“Piss off,” Niall narrows his eyes, but he knows he’s only joking. In fact, Niall kind of wants Louis to win, after the few years he’s had, he deserves it more than any of them.

In the end, Niall decides on the blue, with his black bomber jacket, which Harry takes off of him the second he tries to put it on, and drapes it over the radiator to warm so he won’t be cold when it’s time to leave.

Louis tells him to dress in his t-shirt again so the shirt doesn’t get crumpled, and they sit around the kitchen island when the oven alarm goes off. Liam slaps Harry away, insisting on dishing up, badly disguising that its only because he wants something to do with his hands.

Liam doesn’t eat anything though, just shuffles the paella around on the plate for a bit until his phone goes off, practically causing him to fall out of the chair. Harry sighs heavily, rolling his eyes when Liam can’t find it, handing it over to him, ignoring the glare he shoots. Louis had forced Harry to hide it for him so he didn’t overthink anything or go on a scrolling spree through fan buzz.

Liam snatches it out of Harry’s hand and stomps out to the back garden, stealing the cigarette tucked behind Louis’ ear as he goes.

“Niall,” Harry says, “will you calm the fuck down? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I _feel_ like I’m going to throw up,” Niall huffs, dropping his fork in defeat and hating the way his hands shake slightly. Louis is too quiet, and it’s driving Niall a little bit doo fuckin lally if he’s being honest. “You can stop staring at me too.”

Niall snaps his head to the left and Louis jumps, looking away quickly.

“I’m not worried about the award, dumbass,” Niall says. “I want _you_ to win it. I just… never used to get so fuckin jittery before this shit. S’just weird, innit? Been a while.”

“You’ll be fine, honey,” Harry says, and Niall feels a rush of affection swell his heart double when he meets Harry’s eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath and releasing the tension he’s been holding in his shoulders. “We’ll be fine.”

“Know that, don’t I?” Niall snorts, and Louis’ brow creases in a frown before he shuffles his chair closer and slides himself over into Niall’s lap, sitting on his left thigh and throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“Think I’ve got some smoke left in the bedroom if you want any?”

“Oh yeah,” Niall tuts, pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple before shoving him off, Harry struggling not to laugh as Louis lands on his bum. “Good idea, we’ll just turn up to our first red carpet back together high as fuckin kites.”

“I’ve got some Kalms in the cupboard,” Harry says, sipping from his half glass of white and running one hand through his hair.

Louis pats Niall on the shoulder as he stands back up to his full height, before going out after Liam, making sure he hasn’t tried to shimmy down the fire escape. Sensing that everyone seems to be done with their food, Niall waves Harry down and gathers the remains himself, running the hot tap and squirting in the expensive lemon scented shit Harry buys from Waitrose.

He does feel himself relax a bit as he goes through the motions of rinsing, scrubbing, rinsing again, then racking. At some point Liam returns without Louis and rolls up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, grabbing a hand towel and starting to dry and put away whilst Niall works. When they’re finished, Niall pulls the plug and lets out a long sigh, hands pressed to the frame of the sink, head bowed forward, eyes closed.

He smiles softly and huffs out a worn chuckle when he feels Liam’s arms wrap around him snugly from behind, the strength of them always a little bit disarming to begin with. Niall remembers like yesterday how different they used to feel when they were skinny, wiry teenagers; but still somehow the same.

“Fuckin sap,” Niall grumbles, but Liam sniffs out a small laugh, nuzzling his nose against Niall’s neck for a moment before kissing the back of it, squeezing once, then letting go so he can go take a piss and sort his hair out.

* * *

 

The lobby is quite busy as they’re hoarded downstairs from Harry and Louis’ New York apartment. Its ridiculously cold outside, contrasting with the overzealous heating indoors. But after the two herbal relaxants Harry had issued him ten minutes ago, Liam’s not feeling quite so much like he wants to take the jet to Miami immediately and ditch this whole thing.

“Boys,” Berto greets them from the driver’s seat as they struggle trying to get into the car at the same time. Liam slaps Paddy on the back, the sensation of safety washing over him just seeing his bodyguard dressed all in black and winking at him. There’s going to be more personal security meeting them at the venue, but their one demand is usually that they have at least two familiar faces looking after them whilst they’re at these things.

Harry fusses about trying to find the correct seatbelt hole, and glares Liam down when he tells him he has the wrong one twice.

“Looking very dapper. Love the colour, Harry.”

“Thanks, Bee!” Harry grins at Berto in the wingmirror, poking his tongue out at Liam when he finally gets it right. Liam wants to be annoyed, but he can’t find it in him when Harry’s dimples crater and he settles back against the plush leather, pushing his growing hair from his face again.

Louis sits beside him, drumming his fingers on his knees, kitted out in a grey polo neck and a dark blue blazer, hair quaffed back so it doesn’t start getting in his eyes.

“Ready?”

“Yup,” Louis says and Berto starts up the engine and pulls them out onto the main road.

It’s such a routine trip from the apartment to Madison Square Garden; Liam has made it every year for a decade now, but just the thought that he’s even been doing this for so long is strange. He still feels like a kid.

A silly, ridiculous kid who didn’t know how to loosen up enough to have fun until four equally silly and ridiculous kids came clambering uncoordinated into his life and messed everything up in the most perfect way.

Whilst the drive to mid-Manhattan is commonplace however, being in the back of a blacked-out limo with these lads feels like a forever ago.

They start to pull up and the screams slam into the paintwork. As contrived and set up as these big events are, this is the most real thing in the world to him. Always has been. His boys. Even if one of them is a bit absent at the moment.

“Not until we open the doors,” Paddy reminds them. “Not too far apart. If anyone thinks they’re starting to panic, remember the code word. Let us know straight away and don’t try to soldier on if it’s too much. I’d say don’t take too long with the fans, but you never bloody listen anyway.”

Paddy and Alberto are gone for two seconds before the doors are being opened, someone else is getting into the front seat to drive it around the back of the venue, and cold, sharp air comes rushing in, making Louis curse loudly and Harry huff. Niall gets out first, and Liam almost forgets his cue, recovering after a beat, feeling distinctly like he’s nose diving into the pit of a heavy metal concert.

Niall waits for him to be at full height, Harry and Louis following suit. Liam feels pride overcome him as they naturally move together, Louis’ hand pressing to the small of Harry’s back as Harry rights the blazer; a dark green fabric detailed with gold roses, paired with a black silk button down, black skinnies, and dark green Chelsea boots.

They look like a couple.

They always look like a couple, but this is in public, with a thousand cameras and fans on them from all directions – no pun intended.

“Lola and Annie,” one of the carpet runners meets them all where they’re still stood at the foot of the walk, a transparent plastic cord disappearing from her ear behind a heavy black fur coat. Two women join them, dressed similar to Berto and Paddy, and smiling politely at them. They shake hands, thank them, and have all of three seconds to accumulate before they’re guided forward.

Liam draws in a deep, grounding breath.

“C’s here,” Louis voice says quietly as they move to stand in a line as though they’d never been apart, but he didn’t need to lower it; nothing will be heard over the onslaught of screaming and shouting. Liam refuses to let himself freeze up, and simply nods, shifting a bit so his arms around Niall and Harry’s shoulders are more comfortable. Louis and Harry have their hands placed on one hip each, smiling and trying hard not to squint under the harsh light of the flashes threatening to blind them all.

“Keep going,” Paddy interrupts after about ten seconds, and they move along again, breaking off a bit to do quick interviews. They answer the questions as neutrally as they can, as they’ve been briefed.

Yes, they’re back together, yes, they’re writing; they’re about half way through a full album, yes, they will be touring in 2020, but the only date secured is the first one on August 2nd. It will include all the Made In The AM songs, with a few from the new album gradually incorporated. When Harry said wedding in his tweet, he meant in general there will be a wedding somewhere in the world on that day. It’s okay to look smug or mischievous when saying so. No, they can’t give any song titles or lyrics.

Inquiries into Harry and Louis’ relationship have been temporarily blacklisted, but as usual some slip through, at which point no one has to make a denial, the only reply should be a smile and a bow out of the interview.

It goes by in a bit of a blur, but it’s okay until they’re lead up the steps into the arena and Liam is watching his own feet trying not to trip over, only to slam into another body.

“Woah, steady on.”

Beautiful hands tattooed with intricate mandala wrap around his biceps to stop him from toppling over, and Liam feels his breath catch in his throat, his heart stop then start up three times faster. He swallows heavily and lifts his line of sight, his whole world shifting upon meeting stunning hazel eyes.

“Z,” Louis says excitedly, and Harry wets his lips, a cheesy smile almost breaking his face. Liam still feels frozen to the spot though, his pulse thrumming wildly through his red velvet bomber to the solid grip of Zayn Malik’s hold.

“Boys,” Zayn says, lips curving into a slow, slightly hesitant, but no less joyous grin. “I was gonna come over to the apartment earlier but I got caught up. How goes?”

“You look hot as fuck,” Niall tells him, slapping him between the soldier blades and causing him to flinch a bit, but the eye contact with Liam doesn’t break until Louis loudly clears his throat to remind them there are still people with photographic devices recording as much footage as they possibly can.

“Not too bad yourself, babe,” Zayn says, chest expanding with a shaky inhale before he tugs Liam in tight.

“Stop panicking,” he says in Liam’s ear, “you’re going to be fine.”

And this is the only reassuring voice that has worked properly all night. It’s warm and soft and low and deep and just – _just for him_. Liam closes his eyes and relaxes, arms winding around him fully, tighter, like it’s his lifeline.

“I know,” he replies, just as quiet. “You look gorgeous.”

Zayn breaks away then, hands still resting either side of his waist.

“Right back atcha.”

“All ready?”

“Requested to be seated with you lot, innit?”

“Yes, lad!” Niall grabs at the side of Zayn’s head and plants a smacker to his temple, and as they start to move, Zayn lets Liam go first, his hand remaining on the curve of his hip, another squeezing at his shoulder. Liam realises that something has slotted into place in the last two minutes. Something that’s been kind of missing so far.

“Excited for next week?” Harry asks, following Louis along the row they’ve been designated.

“Buzzin,” Zayn says, settling into his seat between Harry and Liam, Niall on Liam’s right. Their legs press together in a warm line, the pressure the most instinctive thing in the world.

“Got some sick stuff for us to work with.”

“S’been too weird without you,” Harry says, a touch of uncertainty. “Even writing MITAM. It’s just… too fucking strange, Z.”

“I know, mate,” Zayn says, slapping a hand to Harry’s thigh and leaving it there. “I’m – look, they’re making the announcement on Monday, yeah? And my paperwork just went through. There’s just a couple more things to finalise.”

“Li’s got come cool stuff too,” Louis says pointedly, draping a hand over the back of Harry’s seat and leaning forward a bit to gesture his head at Liam. “Super R&B styled.”

“Oh god,” Niall remarks, snorting and slumping a bit, although his eyes sparkle, “they’re gonna say we’re eclectic, aren’t they?”

“I’d rather be eclectic than enemies who can’t even be in the same room as each other.”

“Oh man, I know, right?” Liam finds his voice, finally, sitting back and running one hand through his hair, shimmying his bum a bit to get comfortable. “That was worse than the time I got chlamydia from a fuckin koala.”

“Fuckin Wooton,” Niall hisses, “piece of shite. We’re not giving him fuck all this time, okay?”

“Agreed,” they all accidentally say at once, looking at each other awkwardly for a beat, before dissolving into laughter, Liam feeling slightly high, his stomach aching in the most beautiful way.

“I’m going to fucking scream if one more person calls me their spirit animal.”

Their little fit is interrupted abruptly when Robyn drops sharply into her seat in front of them, the chatter in the giant room slowly gaining in noise. She looks incredible as usual, dressed in a dark red tube dress and a green faux fur coat, curls falling over her shoulders. Effortless in typical Rihanna fashion.

“Oh dear,” Liam squeaks, and Zayn has to slap a hand to his mouth to cover the chuckle that threatens to expose itself.

“Fuckheads,” Louis huffs, leaning forward when she tilts her head for him to kiss her cheek. “How are you, babe?”

“Exhausted, hungry, and cranky.”

“Tell me about it…”

Liam zones out again, watching everyone flock in. Josh Groban stuntedly takes his place beside T, who is in deep conversation with Cara and ignoring everyone around her, as per usual. He only feels himself return to his senses again when Troye Sivan comes stumbling through the row in front of him, apologising as he nearly falls into Jason Derulo’s lap. He hugs Robyn tightly when she stands to take his face in her hands and congratulate him for his recent win at the AMAs two months previous, looking a bit star struck, but happy all the same.

“Alright?” Zayn says in his ear, and Liam almost jumps, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with the breath that skirts over his jugular. He wets his lips, swallows, and nods turning his head. He isn’t sure if he’s still allowed, and he’s aware there’s probably someone in the nosebleeds filming on a potato camera, but he presses a kiss to Zayn’s cheekbone anyway, stomach doing something funny when a blush rises to the surface of his skin.

“Good,” he tells him, and it’s true. He’s a little disorientated – what the bloody hell is in those herbal relaxants? – but otherwise, wonderful, he thinks.

The lighting changes all over the arena and everyone settles down a bit, and Liam feels an innate smile curling at his mouth as he lets the tension go and Zayn’s hand come to rest on his knee.

The world is as it should be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamaica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, its been a while again. I have nothing to say for myself. 
> 
> Lemme know what ya think. And as always, thanks. <3
> 
> P.S The book mentioned in this chapter is 100% worth a read. Trumpet by Jackie Kay is a lament for the life of a black transgender jazz musician. Its beautiful and sad and funny, and I like to imagine Harry and Louis have a whole repertoire of queer literature in their back pocket.

I love writing and making people happy, but it takes a lot of time and effort and I do it for free. So if you wanna buy me a coffee,[ you can](https://www.paypal.me/DeeRead). If not, that's okay too. I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it <3

* * *

 

The February sun glints a harsh, dark orange across the car park of Heathrow airport, and Harry Styles squints from behind his Ray Bans as he climbs out of the car, Berto and Louis going to the boot to relieve it of the four duffel bags they have with them.

It’s cold as fuck, but Harry is content and excited, smiling as he stretches above his head, wiggling a bit to crack his back into place. He nudges the sunglasses off his nose and up to push the hair from his forehead.

“Oi, princess, come get your shit.”

Harry flips Louis off but takes his luggage as instructed and they step off the curb together.

His phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans but he ignores it whilst they waste time browsing in the co-op picking up snacks and drinks for the journey, arguing for a minute or so about whether Pepsi or Coke triumph the war of the soft drinks. Louis wins with Pepsi, but only because he looks particularly sleepy and endearing, and because he’s wearing one of Harry’s shirts, rumpled, loose and soft on him. The first few buttons are undone, revealing the stubble of chest hair and collarbone tat.

He’s also very aware that its _why_ he’s won, and keeps waggling his eyebrows and smirking whilst Harry attempts to pay attention enough to get their luggage through weigh in.

“I’m quite warm, y’know?” Louis says loudly and wistfully, thumbing at the collar of the shirt and tugging it to the side more.

“It’s London in February, Lewis, and your constantly cold ass is bullshitting.”

“I’m quite offended, Harold,” he remarks.

“Funny,” Harry says deadpan, “I’m sure my plaid shirts have been going missing lately.”

“The bloody cheek of it, I’m telling you. Does your significant other accuse you of theft and dishonesty too?”

The lady processing their bags has looked fairly amused by their antics up until this moment, but when Louis directly addresses her, she hides laughter with a cough and shakes her head, pursing her lips.

“No, but that’s only because I scare her a bit,” the lady replies, and Louis grins, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping discreetly closer to Harry.

“Same.”

“Lou, you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Hush your gums, Petal,” he says, patting the top of Harry’s head.

The lady sends them off to go through security, Louis laughing at Harry as they make him take all his rings and his belt off, even though they’ve been on more flights in the last ten years than most people do in their lifetime, and he glares at him through the whole process.

Harry excuses himself to take a piss once they’re in the major complex ready for boarding, and Louis disappears only to pop up again twenty minutes later with Berto and two bags full of McDonalds breakfast.

They sit and eat quietly whilst they’re waiting and Louis whines so much about the overzealous air conditioning on his ‘old man joints’ that Harry gives up reminding him that he’s not even thirty yet, and drapes his shearling over his shoulders with a fond smile and a roll of his eyes.

He takes a picture of their McDonalds wreckage with both their legs in the picture, Louis’ Van clad feet over Harry’s left ankle. Posting it to Instagram, he geotags Heathrow, captioning it with the Jamaican flag.

They’re at the front of the boarding queue when the announcement sounds through the microphones, seeing as they’re flying 1st class, and it’s only when they’re settled fully on the plane waiting for take-off that Harry allows himself to relax properly.

In general, Louis’ presence makes him feel safe and grounded, but being in public alone together still isn’t something he’s used to, especially not somewhere as busy as Heathrow Airport at eight AM. From the moment they pulled up, he’s been a bit twitchy about the way eyes follow them as they walk through crowds, catching muttering here and there like ‘ _isn’t that Harry Styles?_ ’ ‘ _yeah, and Louis Tomlinson_ ’ ‘ _shit, I thought they hated each other?_ ’ ‘ _nah, s’bullshit_ ’ ‘ _no I’m sure I saw The Sun say they hate each other_ ’ ‘ _well clearly not._ ’

It’s good, and it’s so refreshing to hear people shedding preconceived notions about his and Louis’ relationship, but at the same time, it still stings a little bitter that those assumptions were there in the first place. Because Louis might be the most ridiculous person Harry has ever known, but he’s also the love of his life, and the idea of hating him feels as uncomfortable and impossible to Harry as not breathing.

“You alright, darlin?”

“Hmm,” Harry blinks out of his thoughts and draws in a deep breath, a smile spreading across his mouth, nodding. “Oh yeah, fine. Sorry. Away with the fairies.”

“Excited?”

“So excited,” Harry isn’t even lying. The butterflies are waking up in his gut and his heart is beating a little faster at the thought that in approximately nine hours, they’ll be in one of their favourite places in the world, lounged beneath a warm sun watching the light twinkle off the shimmering water. It’s exactly what they need after spending so much time working lately, and definitely more holiday than they were allowed five years previous. In fact, they pretty much get to choose their own breaks now.

As long as they run it through Matt and put the work in to catch up when they get back on the horse, and as long as it doesn’t mean he has to cancel any big appointments or appearances.

“It’s been a while since we got to do this,” Louis sighs, kicking off his shoes and reclining his seat so he can lean back a bit and rest his spine against Harry’s chest. He hums contentedly when Harry’s fingers come to comb softly through his hair, dipping to press a kiss to Louis’ forehead just because he can.

Louis sleeps for the first three hours, and when he wakes up they put The Lion King on and watch it through earphone splitters, Harry laid with his head in Louis’ lap this time, napping to the sound of Elton John and the warm cradle of Louis’ thighs.

When he checks his phone at the half way mark whilst Louis is teasing Berto about his choice of knitwear, there are hundreds of notifications and comments under his IG picture. Some of them are the usual robotic ‘larry is real’s, but others are ‘have fun on holiday, boys!’ and ‘I’m well jealous! Soak up that Jamaican sun, lads.’ Niall has also commented on it with a string of sunshine emojis and then two middle fingers, to which Harry sees Louis has already replied with the sunglasses emoji, officially confirming they’re together and abroad.

By the time they’ve eaten their pre-ordered flight meals, they’re being asked to pack things up and put their seatbelts back on, and Berto is gearing up to liaise with airport security when they land.

Harry shoves his shearling in his carry on and changes quickly into a short-sleeved shirt, Louis smugly announcing that he’s for once been the more practical one, having worn fitted jean shorts and the plaid shirt beforehand.

Jet lagged and ready to sleep on a proper mattress, they both wait for the plane to clear before they’re lead off, shaking the hands of the hostesses and the pilots and thanking them. They go through baggage claim and meet up with airport officers, at once being flanked by five people they’ve never met before, kitted out in walkie talkies and batons.

There are paps waiting for them in the foyer and they get moved along a little faster, Harry instinctively getting closer to Louis as they walk, heads down, both of them hating this part of being known. No one likes to do much other than quietly climb into a taxi after a twelve-hour flight (they were slightly delayed), and having strangers yelling harsh questions at them along with a mass of blinding flashes capturing their ruffled, sleepy states isn’t ideal universally. He misses the ban on paparazzi photos of them together.

“Uggh, I shouldn’t have hinted we’d be coming here,” Harry grumbles as they finally get out into the taxi bank, where a silver Mazda is waiting for them.

“S’alright, love,” Louis says over the noise as he opens the door for Harry to climb in first whilst their luggage is lifted into the boot. “You were excited. Careful.”

Harry almost smacks his head on the roof of the car, but as the door slams shut behind them, the flashes are blocked by blackout windows, and both of them breathe out sighs of relief.

Berto puts the radio on low and quiet, Of Monsters and Men’s first album playing softly through the speakers as they doze in and out of consciousness. Louis leans between the front seats and flicks the air conditioning on, the shock of the stiflingly warm temperature making Harry’s allergies play up slightly.

It’s dark when Berto pulls up outside their island villa, and he helps them unload their things, and Harry takes Louis’ keys off him when he struggles to find the correct one. He’s half asleep and it’s been at least five months since they were last here after all.

They don’t even attempt to unpack when they basically fall through the front door, quickly entering the code into the alarm system with fumbling fingers, and dumping their bags in the bedroom. Louis stumbles off to the toilet and Harry gets to work opening the French doors, taking a moment to stand out on the decked balcony, closing his eyes and revelling in the thin line of sweat beading in the dip between his shoulder blades and finally letting a small smile curve his mouth, listening to the sea washing against the shore of soft sand.

A hand lands on his stomach, arms wrapping around him from behind, and he tilts his head slightly to allow Louis’ lips better access, gentle kisses brushing along his jugular and prickling delightful goosebumps over his skin.

“It’s so quiet,” Louis hums, burying his face in the dip between Harry’s neck and shoulder.

“Bedtime,” Harry replies eventually, patting Louis’ hand. Even in the heat, the absence of Louis’ embrace leaves him slightly cold, but he recovers quickly in the tepid breeze whispering into the room. They strip off and crawl into bed, eyes already closed the second they hit the pillows. They kick about a bit, trying to find an angle of sheet coverage that suits before finally settling, half draped over each other, thin duvet cover tangled between them, Jamaica’s night washing over them and stilling the world.

* * *

 

Louis wakes up slowly, softly, without the crippling anxiety he’s become so familiar with.

He tries not to breathe in too deeply for fear of coughing and waking Harry up, and instead untangles himself, leaving the long expanse of his sleeping fiancé snoring into the pillow as he pads naked through the house to the large bathroom to relieve himself.

It’s only when he’s put some trackie bottoms on and ventured out onto the front porch that he clears his chest, settling on the hot sand with a cup of steaming coffee and a ready rolled cigarette.

He has missed this place so much.

It’s like their own little pocket of the world, where no one can touch them unless they allow it, and only the birds and the sea and the scorching sun keep them company.

Running one hand through his hair, pushing the nest of knotted waves from his face, he wets his lips and bends his legs at the knees, toking and watching the smoke swirl in the humid air. Harry isn’t beside him, but he can feel him, like a second heartbeat, a second pulse in his blood and in his veins.

The coffee helps him to break through the smog of remaining grogginess and he hears the shower turn on from inside, smiling to himself, knowing that soon he will smell cooking eggs and sunflower oil drifting out to call him back.

The last time they were here was early February in 2018, and they’d come for a long weekend because Louis had nearly lost his mind with insomnia and Harry was unknowingly overworking himself again.

Louis is still a little shaky on his feet if he’s being honest. Sometimes it still feels as though he’s suffocating, and his shoulders are still adjusting to the lack of weight pinning them down.

It’s so different it’s overwhelming.

He wishes so much that his mum could see him now, that she could be here with him and Harry and watch the waves flow calmly.

His fingers brush over the ink on his hand. If he looks closely he can still make out the lines of the letter, replaced now by a crown, the title the fans had given him. A king in his own right.

They eat their bacon butties on the beach, Harry draped in a thin white kaftan, curls fluttering softly in the gentle zephyr. Louis can’t help kissing his hand where their fingers lace together, over the small scar on his wrist from his surgery, to his cheekbone, enjoying the blush that rises to his skin under his attention.

“What’s on the agenda today then, boss?” Harry asks him whilst he’s getting dressed, pulling a thin white t-shirt over his head and stepping into baby blue swim shorts that barely touch the bottom of his thighs.

“Dunno,” Louis hums thoughtfully, buttoning Harry’s plaid shirt on his own torso, leaving the first four undone so he doesn’t sweat out all his energy during the day. “Montego Bay market?”

“Good answer,” Harry grins at him, kissing his forehead before lifting his satchel around his body and patting Louis on the bum. Louis takes a piss before they leave, and they get a taxi to the market, Harry rambling about Lambert’s texts regarding Antonio not speaking to him because he bought an I Love New York t-shirt on their holidays.

He’s still talking when they get out.

“Cheers, mate,” Louis winks at the particularly attractive driver and tips heavily, earning himself a bright smile.

“You alright?” Harry finally asks him when they hit the market, not quite busy yet with how early it still is, and Louis smirks because he knows Harry’s been holding off prodding him to talk for the last hour. Harry hangs his arm over Louis’ shoulder and Louis links their fingers together where it dangles, tucking his other hand in the back pocket of Harry’s shorts.

“I’m fine, Petal,” Louis insists into his ear, pressing a rough kiss to his cheek. “We’re on holiday, stop worrying about me.”

“I’m always worrying about you,” Harry replies, although his low drawl is laced with fond humour, nudging at the top of Louis’ head with his nose, kissing his hairline in return.

“I’m just enjoying this,” he reassures him, although he does quieten his voice a bit, “adjusting to not being on guard all the time.”

“I know,” Harry replies as they reach the first stall, Harry’s long fingers brushing absently over the hand-crafted jewellery and untangling himself from Louis. “S’weird, innit?”

“You can say that again.”

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, nudging at his ankle with his converse clad foot to get his attention before holding a ring up, “do you like this?”

When he looks properly, it’s actually very pretty. It’s a band, made of solid plastic and filled on the inside with striped colours of the rainbow. He smiles.

“Love it, babe.”

“How much?”

“Harry-”

“Three thousand nine hundred dollars, sir,” the lady behind the wooden counter tells him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

“Not bad!”

“H-”

“Thanks, darlin,” Harry beams, handing her the money and waiting for her to tie it in a small netted baggie, pocketing it in the front of his satchel.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I can’t buy my fiancé pretty things?” Harry wets his lips, bopping his hip against Louis’ before tugging him on by the waistband of his denim shorts.

Harry usually has to buy him things without telling him about it first. Louis can’t explain it. He doesn’t care so much when people he doesn’t really know do it; as far as he’s concerned, they can spend their money however they want. Lord knows he works his arse off enough to deserve nice stuff being thrown at him by the people he essentially works for. But it’s always been a bit different coming from his friends and family, makes him come over a bit shy and awkward.

“You’re very cute, you know that?”

“Piss off,” Louis shoves him lightly, but Harry just giggles, grabbing his face in his hands and attempting to shower him with kisses. He squirms out of it, poking him in the ribs. “Give over. You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re still cute,” Harry pokes his tongue out at him. Louis feels warmer, and it’s not because of the relentless sun.

Louis gets him back by buying him a new shirt, a loose flowy one with pink and blue florals weaving intricately into each other. It’s a little more expensive than the ring and Harry tries and fails to stop him, but it’s worth it to see the sheer adoration coming over his face, deepening his dimples.

They retreat after an hour as more people start to pack into the tiny market streets and it gets harder to breathe. They walk down to the sea and buy two extremely overpriced beers, and Harry flicks his feet up on Louis’ thighs, a wordless demand for him to slip them free of the flip flops and rub them.

After that they do a bit of sight-seeing, then return to the seafront to find a sheltered corner of the beach to sunbathe. Louis plucks his kindle from the bag whilst Harry flips his sunglasses down over his face and rests his head on Louis’ stomach.

“Read to me,” Harry bugs him for a good five minutes before Louis gives up pretending he wasn’t going to agree in the first place, and starts on the third chapter of Jackie Kay’s Trumpet. When the heat gets a bit overbearing, Harry gets up and ventures over to the nearest shop to get them an umbrella, and when he returns and sets it up, Louis makes him drink a half a bottle of water and Harry rubs sun cream into his back for him.

Louis lets out a long sigh of contentment as they settle back in, Harry googling the footie scores on his phone. He watches a Welsh family yelling at each other about the husband’s apparent earlier outburst at the hotel they’re staying at, and Louis can’t help the laughter bubbling. The wife, rightfully so, smacks the husband hard up the back of the head with her Take A Break magazine, telling him the featured story about the woman who married her dog warrants a more valid reaction than the cold bit of fish that had caused the ruckus in the first place.

“Haz?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you reckon we’ll end up like that one day?”

Harry’s eyebrows hit the top of his head when he looks in Louis’ direction and tunes in on the argument.

“Louis, you literally refused to talk to me for like six hours last week because I shrunk your Umbro jumper.”

Louis flicks him on the forehead and Harry nips at the skin of his hip, tutting at him when Louis just waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Do you think we’re boring?”

Harry lets out a loud bark of laughter at that, huffing and crawling up his body to rest his chin on the ‘It Is What It Is’ tat.

“We might have little married couple tiffs sometimes, but you made me come five times in one-night last month. We’ve been together since I was sixteen.”

“So?”

“So normal people don’t usually meet their soulmates before they even leave home,” Harry smirks, kissing wetly and maddeningly featherlight up the curve of Louis’ neck, making his heart skip and his stomach give an interested little lurch. Suddenly it’s incredibly difficult to focus on anything other than the tips of Harry’s fingertips brushing over his ribs.

“You’re a sneaky little shite, you know that?” Louis murmurs, his voice involuntarily coming out a bit gravelly, mock snapping his teeth at the tip of Harry’s nose.

“Hmm,” Harry grins, nibbling on his own bottom lip as he shifts his leg, putting more pressure on Louis’ crotch. “So are you.”

“Precisely, young Harold,” Louis smirks then, only just managing to push through the gentle fog of arousal clouding his senses before he hooks his ankle around Harry’s knee and flips him, pinning him to the sand with his hands above his head. Harry pouts up at him, already flushed in the face, pupils dilated. Louis kitten licks at the juncture between his jawline and jugular, and curls his fingers tighter around Harry’s.

“And we’re on a public beach. So, stop teasing and go get me an iced mocha.”

* * *

 

They get a taxi back to the villa around 3pm, and Harry cooks them omelettes whilst Louis drinks a beer and attempts to calm Berto down when he rings and tells them off for going out so publicly without letting him know.

Louis thinks he’s done a good amount of damage control until Berto texts him a link to a tweet with a blurry picture attached of them walking through the market with their hands linked. He rings Alayna to let her know, but she tells him she’s been aware of it since it went up, and that it’s not a big deal.

It’s so fucking weird to get such a chilled response when before it would have been treated like an end of the world military operation, and Russell would have glared at him for hours until Louis lost his temper and told him to get fucked.

They smoke a few spliffs between them, and end up fucking in the shower and nearly breaking it. Then again in the bed until the sun goes down and they’re too hot and tired to try and beat their record.

It’s a little after 7pm when Harry’s allergies start to get the better of him, and Louis takes ten minutes frustratedly rummaging through their suitcases trying to find the antihistamines, whilst agonisingly listening to Harry’s helpless sneezing and sniffling and protests that he’s _fine_.

He fetches a warm flannel and a cold bottle of water from the fridge for Harry to take his meds with, and then spends the next two hours playing with Harry’s hair and singing to him quietly.

It calms down gradually, somewhere in the ass crack between 2 and 3am, and, sleepy and satisfied and still a bit stoned, they drift off into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We love a good Niall™ break up song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are mine, as is the story. But the people aren't.
> 
> Enjoy, and thank you as always <3

I love writing and making people happy, but it takes a lot of time and effort and I do it for free. So if you wanna buy me a coffee, [you can](https://www.paypal.me/DeeRead). If not, that's okay too. I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it <3

* * *

Carly breaks up with Niall on a Monday.

Its nothing he hasn’t been expecting. Its been on the cards for a while now, and at this point he kind of expects it; but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

She comes over to the house, all puffy eyed and red faced, dressed in sweats and nursing a very strong coffee he kind of suspects has a shot of vodka in it. She sits opposite him at the kitchen island, clears her groggy throat, and tells him she hasn’t made the decision lightly, that it’s not just his fault, that she’s just tired and can’t deal with the added stress she knows is heading straight for what’s left of their relationship.

He nods along, hands her tissue when she gets all drippy and croaky voiced again, apologises when it sounds like its warranted, and walks her to the door, not actually crying until he shuts it behind her and watches her pull out of the driveway.

He slumps numbly against it, dropping unceremoniously to the rug and letting out a long, shuddery sigh, dragging his fingers through his messy bed hair.

Once the sobs subside and his throat is sore and he feels dizzy with dehydration, he sniffs, wiping his face like the tears have offended him, and slugs back to the kitchen. Pouring himself a couple of glasses of water and downing one after the other, he looks around the open plan living room, feeling lost and aimless and strung out, like he’s had his face in a bong for the last two hours.

Showering with the heat all the way up, he tugs on a big hoodie and skinnies, steps into his Reeboks, and just remembers to grab at his keys and phone before braving London’s morning traffic.

He makes a quick trip to Tesco’s with his hood over his head, ignoring numerous texts from Louis, and picking up a basket of junk food and energy drinks.

If he was working in any other profession, he’d perhaps call in sick, or at least despise the idea of going in for the day, preferring to hide away in bed and watch a shitty film. But as it is, he’s kind of itching to get into the studio. He’s not forming instant lyrics in his head like the last time this happened, but he’s running on autopilot right now, and he’s still in a bit of a daze.

Signing in, he swears the receptionist clutches his hand in greeting longer than she usually does, but it’s a relief that Liam is the only one already in. He’s sat at the deck, pen behind his ear as usual, chewing on his bottom lip and frowning a little at the tech.

Niall drops the Tesco bag down beside him, causing him to flinch a bit.

“Fuck,” he gasps, clutching at his chest. “Jesus, mate, you’re tryna kill me.”

“Nah,” Niall replies, clearing his throat and hating how small he sounds. “Not today.”

“Woah, hey,” Liam grabs his arm as Niall makes for the loo, and he feels his stomach drop, swallowing heavy on the fresh lump rising in his throat. “What’s up?”

“M’fine,” Niall sniffs again, wetting his chapped lips. “Seriously. Just keep setting up.”

“Babe, stop for a sec, yeah?”

“I just need a piss-”

“Stay the fuck still.”

Niall feels himself freezing, closing his eyes gently and drawing in a long, shaky breath through his nose, his heart giving a soft thud.

“Niall, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“Well done,” he remarks, a failed attempt at being even remotely angry.

Liam lets go of his arm and brings his hands up to cradle either side of Niall’s neck, nudging him to get him to open his eyes again. His face is flooded with alarmed concern, frown much deeper than before.

“Talk to me.”

“S’ _fine_ , Liam,” Niall manages. “Carly ended things this morning, is all.”

“What?” Liam says helplessly. “Why?”

“She barely knows, how the fuck should I get it?”

“I thought it was good.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t say anything-”

“Liam, I don’t actually have to tell you lot everything, y’know?”

Liam looks like he’s trying hard to keep a grip on his urge to continue pushing for information, or to be offended. Niall knows he’s being difficult, he knows its not fair; its not Liam he’s angry at. But he can’t really be angry at Carly, she’s not here, and she hasn’t done anything particularly awful, aside from leave him.

“No,” Liam sighs after a few seconds, swallowing. “No, you don’t. C’mere.”

Liam tugs him in, bringing him tumbling forward, hand moving to cup the back of his skull, holding him in place against his warm body. God, he’s _so warm_. And he smells like strawberry shampoo. Its so overwhelmingly comforting and heartbreaking, he can’t keep his grip on control.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Niall clings to Liam tightly, just breathing against his shoulder and struggling not to burst into tears again.

“You’re alright, babe,” Liam tells him quietly, softly, “you’re safe with us.”

“M’fine.”

“You keep saying that word; I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Niall can’t help snorting, rolling his wet eyes against the fabric of Liam’s oversized denim jacket. After a minute of gathering himself, he loosens his grip, and Liam takes the cue to pull back a bit. He motions for Niall to wait where he is, and fetches him a glass of water, pulling up a bean bag for him, and sitting opposite with their knees touching.

Once he’s watched him drink the whole thing, he drops a guitar in Niall’s lap and takes the pen from behind his ear.

“Okay,” Liam says. “Harry and Louis are still jetlagged so they’re not coming in until lunchtime, and Z is in New York talking to a publisher for his poetry book. So, it’s just you and me. Lets… this always helps, yeah? Let’s get some work done.”

“Not many people’s work includes baring their fucking soul for six hours a day.”

“Not many people are as good of a storyteller as you,” Liam winks at him, pretty eyes sparkling with love. Niall huffs, throat feeling a little raw and not exactly good for doing his job right now. But he doesn’t think Liam will care very much about what he sounds like, and its incredibly comforting.

“Alright,” Niall sighs. “Okay, fine. Let’s uh – we had this tune the other day, right?”

“Yeah, I remember. It was like…”

Niall plays the notes, head hung slightly. The second the music washes over him, an instant smile curves his mouth, and he feels his soul flicker to life – ha! Ironic.

“ _These old bones_

_Don’t know your blood_

_And I can’t hear your voice… anymore_.”

Liam scribbles away as they fall into a bit of a tandem.

“ _You tune me out_

_This storm cloud_

_Wont leave us alone… I can’t ignore._ ”

“ _Here we are, sitting in the dark,_

_And I know you, I know you._

_Now our time has come and your heart is numb_

_But I feel you, I feel you.”_

Liam continues straight on with a stream of lyrics, and Niall remembers then, this is why they’re in band together. This is why fate put them here. They just… know.

“ _Oh, we’re lost in translation, but we’ve –_ wait, just adjust- yep, good _-_

_But I am here with you, and this is all brand new_

_I guess I know the score._

_There’s nothing to restore…_

_Anymore_.”

“Title!” Liam gestures wildly, excitedly, and Niall’s smile grows into a grin, his chest swelling with elation; that precious lightbulb moment. “We have a title! Anymore. This bitch is called ‘ _Anymore_ ’.”

“Its perfect,” Niall nods, closing his eyes and ducking his head, breathing carefully as catharsis takes a hold of him.

They have track five.

* * *

When they’re done layering some of the melodies, Harry sits back, hands either side of his head, an excited look on his face.

“Oh my god,” he says, “oh my god, this is… we haven’t written a song like this in years!”

Niall is still getting used to doing this with the five of them looking so different. Harry has stubble growing around his chin and his hair is shorter now, not the way it was at the beginning of hiatus; the curls are gradually getting thicker and he’s taken to pinning back his fringe with a little crocodile clip. But he looks so much older like this.

Everyone does.

Zayn’s got a buzz cut now, dressed in a graphic t-shirt and grey slacks, socks a bright green colour, sat back in his chair with his legs up on the mixing decks, hands behind his head, a sparkle in his eyes that lets Niall know he’s very happy with the song, and is just letting it sink in.

Louis is sat crosslegged on top of one of the tables, the buttons of his Stella McCartney V motif shirt undone to the top of his clavicle, boyfriend jeans rolled at the ankles, undercut defining his cheekbones more than ever, his expression focused, mouth curved into a quiet smile.

And Niall doesn’t quite know what to say. These four grown ass men surrounding him are his best friends in the entire world, but he still has to take a moment occasionally to match the people they used to be with the people they are now.

“It’s a banger,” Louis insists. “I wanna tweak that F bar before the chorus, and cut a couple of contractions, but other than that, I reckon this could be a single.”

“Its sick,” Zayn agrees, finally dropping his legs to the floor and sitting forward. “That run on the eighth line is incredible. H, you up for adding one on the closing verse?”

“One hundred percent,” he says, scratching at his hairline. “But like, make it longer and fade it in with Louis’ falsetto.”

“On the nail,” Niall says. “Look, lads, I know we didn’t want to make this one super depressing or anything…”

“Hush ya gums,” Harry throws a ball of paper at him. “Artistic limitation stunts emotional growth, its been proven. And we’ve never written an album that didn’t have at least one sad ballad on it. Its our signature dish, baby.”

“We’ll get Julian in tomorrow to start recording and getting the percussion together, but yeah,” Niall says, letting out a breath he’s been restricting for the last few hours. “I think we’re nearly done.”

“God,” Liam says, blowing air out through his cheeks, “we’re really doing this again, aren’t we?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, Louis wets his lips, Zayn swallows tightly and nods, and Niall can’t help the giant grin curling the corners of his mouth. Once they’re done with a full album, which is looking to be within the next couple of months; its going to be a string of meetings and business deals. Putting together a tour plan, set design, deciding on a band, sorting out posters and merch and marketing. Arranging promo appearances.

Choosing singles, filming music videos. Back to no sleep and a twenty-four-hour schedule.

But its so fucking exciting, Niall can barely contain himself. It almost totally blocks out the pain clenching in his gut since Carly left. It almost makes him forget that they ever stopped.

“We’re ready,” Louis tells them. And they are.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of footie, and some wedding errands.

I love writing and making people happy, but it takes a lot of time and effort and I do it for free. So if you wanna buy me a coffee, [you can](https://www.paypal.me/DeeRead) <3

* * *

 

Harry ties the top of his hair up out of his face and sprays deodorant all over himself, attempting not to choke when it gets caught on his throat. Grabbing his England shirt from the bed, he tugs it on and smiles at the photo Liam has sent him of Niall fiercely completing a jigsaw puzzle on the private jet they’ve taken to Magaluf.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” he shows Louis the picture when he comes in from the bathroom, dressed already in his own football shirt and squinting to see the screen. Harry rolls his eyes, heart warm with fondness, and hands him his glasses.

“Maybe we should have gone with them…”

“Nah,” Harry says, “s’much as I hate being away from Ni when he’s sad, the last thing he needs is more than one person to answer to. And you know what we’re like, we’ll only mollycoddle him without meaning to.”

“Speak for y’self, I have every intention of forcefully suffocating him with love when they get back.”

Harry smiles and kisses him chastely, brushing some of the stray hair across his head to fit the way he’s styled his fringe. Louis smiles back and winks at him, and Harry loves the way it still tingles softly in his stomach, even now.

Harry makes sure Cliff has enough food and water, whilst Louis runs around turning all their electricals off, throwing Harry the keys, Harry handing him his phone because he always leaves it on the kitchen counter.

Mrs Levison says hello to them as they lock the front door and make their way across the drive to the car.

“Hedges looking lovely,” Louis calls over to her as he opens the passenger door.

“Thank you, honey,” she calls back, waving at them. “But you can stop trying so hard. I’ve got the blueberries in the fridge ready for you on the weekend.”

Harry laughs and Louis flips him the bird as they get in, Harry starting up the engine. It’s only a short drive to their local, but his back is giving him a bit of trouble today and Louis doesn’t like him pushing himself to walk too much when he’s in pain.

“Yes, lads!”

They’re greeted warmly when they enter. He lets Pattinson grab him, slapping him between the shoulder blades, Kingsley squeezing at Louis’ shoulder before excusing himself to go get some weed money he’s owed.

“What will it be, boys?” Kayleigh the barmaid asks, and Harry orders them two pints of Fosters, turning to Pattinson and his girlfriend, Angelica, doing a quick sweep of them. They look alright, reasonably healthy and well fed. Angelica is about six months pregnant, but Harry and Louis have been working so much lately, they haven’t had a huge amount of time to come down and watch a game with their friends, so he has no idea if its all going okay.

“You’re glowing!”

“Thanks, babe,” Angie says, pressing up on her tippy toes to kiss his dimple. “But that’s the sweat. I’ve been throwing up all morning.”

“No,” he says, “you look beautiful.”

“Aye,” Pattinson says, “she doesn’t listen to me, says I’m lying.”

“Absolutely not,” Louis pipes in. “Stunning, always.”

“You boys,” she tuts at them, nudging Louis in the tummy. He pretends it was a full-on shove and curls in on himself, dramatically huffing for breath.

“How’s it going then?”

“Alright,” Harry says, cheerful already, swigging at his drink as it sloshes over the sides a bit. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as a cold pint after a week’s hard work. “The album is brilliant.”

“Best work we’ve ever done, to be honest,” Louis agrees as they gravitate towards a booth facing the TV they bought for the landlord when they first moved into the new house; this pub isn’t their Donny local, but its their favourite away from their hometowns, and they’ve been so lovely, both of them wanted to give them something nice.

Louis sits on Harry’s left knee, draping an arm around his shoulders and stealing a prawn cocktail crisp from the packet Harry had opened a few seconds ago.

“Any chance you can play us some stuff before it goes out?”

“Come round on Saturday,” Louis tells them, “we’ll cook you dinner, make you sign a couple of scary documents, and you can hear the whole thing.”

“It’s a date,” Pattinson winks. They settle in as the pub starts to fill to full capacity, noise and laughter and people loudly shouting the punchlines of jokes. Usually they’re given a bit more of a wide birth than what others are when there’s limited room to stand without spilling drinks everywhere, but they’re glad they got the booth beforehand so they can’t be squeezed in with people asking them for selfies.

Louis counteracts it by taking his own selfie, climbing up on the back of the booth and crouching, taking a picture of himself, Harry, Pattinson, and Ange, all grinning like dickheads at the camera.

Crunch from down the road has photobombed the background with his fingers up, and Halfway from the local park has tugged his trousers down and flashed his ass. Luckily his face isn’t in frame, so Louis can’t get in trouble for posting it to his millions of Instagram followers.

Harry remembers being here just last year around the same time, watching the qualifiers. It had been a messy night, but he remembers the fun they’d had. The yelling, the sweat, the community spirit, and laughter as they’d stumbled home having lost two games of pool to Crunch and Knobby and gained a bunch of bruises from jumping up and down singing.

Its their favourite thing to do in their time off.

“Aye, fuck off,” Louis shouts at Pattinson, jolting Harry's knees as he slams a fiver down on the table. “Own goal from Chzech Rep, 4-3 to England with the winning shot from Sterling two minutes before end. I fuckin guarantee it.”

“Make it five, babe,” Harry says in his ear. “Just to be safe.”

“Five minutes before end,” Louis corrects himself.

“Bullshite,” Pattinson shakes his head, laughing incredulously. “You can’t fuckin predict that accurately.”

Harry can’t help himself, he grins wide, knowing for a fact that Louis can. It’s a gift. Like some sort of footie psychic. If they hadn’t ended up being worth forty million combined through music sales, they could probably have gotten rich on Louis’ quickfire betting on England games.

“You’re a bellend,” Ange snorts, rolling her eyes. “You do this every time. You know you lose.”

“Angelica Pattinson, you mark my words, I’m putting this little fucker in his place okay? 3-2 to England, with no goals after half time,” Pattinson insists.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Harry laughs, playing with the slight curl at the ends of Louis’ hair where it getting long again, pressing an absent kiss to his temple. “Just wait, mate. You know you aint got a chance.”

“Stop takin his side, you prick,” Pattinson pouts. “You’re meant to me my friend.”

“Pats,” Harry throws a ripped-up piece of coaster at his forehead. “You don’t suck my dick.”

Louis chokes on his beer and Pattinson huffs, Ange giggling and placating him as she kisses his cheekbone.

“You wish,” Pattinson says, pointing at him. “You fuckin wish Styles.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis squeezes Harry’s thigh and nips at his earlobe. “Lessofit. Next round. You’re buying just for that.”

“He started it!” Pattinson looks outraged.

“But he sucks my dick,” Louis retorts and Harry buries his face in his neck, warm laughter vibrating in his chest.

Louis’ prediction is right, as usual, and they stumble home on foot, Harry giving Louis a piggyback, Ange videoing their drunken rambling before they break off on the corner of the street and Pattinson wraps his arms around her, walking them backwards, stroking her tummy.

“Harry,” Louis says against his ear as they get closer to the gates. “Harry, I love you.”

“I love you too, Louis,” he replies, his heart swelling, feeling light and dizzy and elatedly happy.

“No like, really, really. You’re my best mate.”

“You’re very cute, but if you don’t focus, I’m going to drop you.”

“S’okay, my ass is insured.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry rolls his eyes. “That was a rumour.”

“I should get it insured.”

“I’m game,” Harry apologises to the guard that lets them in. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. We’re pissed and I want to sleep.”

Louis attaches himself to Harry’s back and they walk awkwardly to their front door. A few minutes later they fall in a tangle of limbs into bed still fully dressed and smelling of booze and kebab, but wrapped up together.

They fall into their dreams a few moments later, and don’t get up again until 1:30pm the next day.

* * *

 

There are a lot of things in Harry’s life that make him fortunate, and he loves them all very much; he appreciates them as much and as often as he can, because there are so many times throughout the last ten years when he could very easily have never had them, or worse, had them taken away from him.

But his absolute favourite of all, is the days in between the performing and the carpets and the glamour and the screaming.

The days he wakes up warm and safe and content beside Louis’ loud, ungraceful snores and a shrill, mundane ringing from his mobile phone, his mum waiting to gossip down the line at him.

The days he’s a little too sleepy to bother with breakfast and spends the first couple of hours whining and shuffling around, staring at the things around the house that need doing but wont for at least another week.

And if he were married to anyone else, they might give his poorly co-ordinated ensemble of pastel coloured trousers and bright blue Hawaiian shirt a once over and claim they will not leave the house with him like that.

But Louis just smiles warmly at him and pops another button for him, using the wonky collar to anchor himself up and press a kiss to his nose.

“C’mon, Harold,” Louis says, “the day is calling us.”

“No,” Harry replies. “I don’t hear anything. I only hear the Parks and Recreation theme tune.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and jingles the car keys, letting Harry trail after him to the Land Rover.

They have errands to run today. They have to put final decisions down for their caterer, the venue is umming and ahhing about capacity and the cameras they’re going to have set up filming the wedding video for them.

Louis, a saint among devils, takes them straight to starbucks, and the whole time they’re waiting in line Harry drapes himself over his back, chin tucked into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his middle.

“Iced mocha for this limpet here, thanks, love.”

“Someone had a late night, then,” the barista smiles warmly, and Harry sighs, nodding.

“Bloody song won’t write itself. Louis, why can’t songs just write themselves?”

“Babe,” Louis huffs, turning his head to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek, “we love our jobs as serious singer songwriters, remember?”

“Right,” Harry grumbles, letting go of Louis fast when they’re handed their drinks and practically inhaling the caffeine. “Sure. Have a good day, darlin.”

“Enjoy, lads,” she replies, and then they’re back in the car and Harry is driving so Louis can flick his feet up on the dash and smoke through the open window, the light spray of early spring rain blowing in the breeze, free hand resting on Harry’s thigh.

“I want the lilies,” Harry tells him over the low sound of Julia’s new EP playing through the speakers. “We’re not compromising on those.”

“And I want the pink and rose gold for the centrepieces,” Louis nods. “Non-negotiable.”

“Do you reckon we’d even get anything we want with these vendors if we weren’t so used to arguing with CEOs? El-em-ay-oh.”

“Harry,” Louis pinches his thigh and removes his hand, flicking ash before handing him the remainder of the cig to smoke. “We’ve talked about using social media abbreviations in real life conversations.”

“Eye-Duh-Kay why, Louis, it’s a modernist expression of emotion.”

“And it makes you sound like a dickhead.”

“Wanker. Also, Allessandro cancelled that meeting about the suits later. He’s gotta fly out to Croatia for something else, but he says he’s gonna reschedule for next week.”

“No worries,” Louis says as they pull up on the street parking to Jordan’s studio and spot three paps waiting behind the hedges across the road. He tuts and unbuckles, bracing himself. “We’re meant to be recording the chorus for track eleven later anyway. And we need to pick up your inhalers.”

“Uggh,” Harry whines as they get their ticket and stick it on the dash.

“Oi, oi,” Jordan shouts from the second-floor window and Louis smirks, flipping him the bird.

“C’mon then,” Harry grins, grabbing his hand and kicking at the door, waiting for someone to let them in. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
